Monthly Archives: June 2010

Walking from the Ship

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three walkers
Dave, Julia and Dot look back towards the sea during our walk near Brancaster

Very warm and quite busy few days, especially for Dot, who has completed a church school inspection at East Rudham, looked round a vicar’s garden at West Raynham and actually completed the report in time for us to leave for Blakeney early on Friday afternoon. This was for our annual reunion session with the Evetts and with Alan and Rosemary – the remaining six of an initial 13 of us, back at the turn of the century. It turned out to be probably the best weather so far, if measured in terms of heat. Shortly after our arrival we went for a walk along the river, but soon headed back to the Blakeney Hotel for our traditional tea and scones in the upstairs lounge, with a nice view across the estuary. We were in fact staying at the Manor Hotel as usual, which is about half as expensive and much more than half as good. Our room had been refurbished, and the food was of  a pretty high standard as always. I had a lamb shank on the first night (Murray, eat your heart out) and a sirloin steak on the second.

On the Saturday Dave, Julia, Dot and I drove to Brancaster Ship Hotel, which has been beautifully refurbished. We had tea and coffee there before heading out on our walk, which I took from Ralph (Will) Martin’s Pub Strolls book. He suggested it was 3½ miles, but this is a typical RM underestimate: we measured 4½, and we missed out a short section at the beginning. True, we did walk round an additional field, but it certainly wasn’t a mile in circumference. We were trying to find Branodunum, the Roman settlement, at the time, but it appears to be invisible (if that’s not an oxymoron). On the plus side, it was an excellent walk, though we were pretty warm by the time we got back to the Ship for our Light Bite lunch, which was exotic and delicious. I had a fried duck egg with some shrimps and mustard. We called in at Big Blue Sky on the way back and discovered they had sold four of the ten poetry books of mine they bought a couple of years ago. Yippee!

On the Sunday we went to Cookie’s for lunch, but not before Dot and I had taken another stroll by the river and called in on Godfrey Sayers, a rather good landscape artist who has a regular caravan display slot on the carnser. He used to be fan of my EDP column (no accounting for taste) and we had been corresponding by e-mail recently. Dot introduced me to him, and we had a pleasant chat. At Cookie’s I nearly took Julia’s leg off when I drove off while she was still getting out of the car, but she not only survived but stopped the door hitting anything too. What a hero! Yes, very clumsy on my part: I thought I’d heard three doors slam, but clearly I hadn’t.

We drove the Evetts back to their car at the Manor Hotel, and this time let them get out completely before driving off back to Norwich, in plenty of time for the World Cup match between a team purporting to represent England and what my late mother-in-law would have called “some foreign team”. Yes, it was England v Germany again, and I have rarely seen England play so badly. Whatever you say about the manager or the system, you have to question why the players can’t keep the ball, can’t ever beat an opposition player, can’t tackle and can’t shoot. In the end I was hoping Germany would win 6-1. They only managed four, and admittedly England were laughably deprived of a goal because the referee and linesman didn’t notice the ball was about a metre over the line (that is not hyperbole). But then again in the next match Mexico laughably conceded a goal against Argentina which was so obviously offside that you wondered if the officials were at the same game. That’s sport for you. The good thing about the English result was that the fans could not even be outraged, we were so bad.

The Italian job, part three

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Trio on balcony
Roger, Dot and Barbara on the balcony of our Lamole villa

At about 10.45 on Saturday the 12th we took a water taxi to Florence station. My fears that we were cutting it a bit fine were unfounded, and we caught the 11.27 to Florence with no trouble. It was a delightful journey in first class, with free refreshments, and we got to Florence around 1pm. It took us a while to get our bearings, but we eventually found our car rental firm which, in usual Italian fashion, managed to take 90 minutes-plus to find us a car that been ordered and paid for in advance. A very warm wait, but at least they gave us directions, and we found ourselves on the right road out of the city fairly quickly. We stopped in Greve in Chianti for supplies and reached our delightful villa at Lamole, up in the hills, shortly after 5pm, to be greeted by a lovely Italian woman called Yolande, who turned out to be Polish.

On Sunday the warmth remained, but it was a little overcast. We eventually drove to Greve, and after a little shopping walked to Montefioralle, a little walled town allegedly 20 minutes walk uphill. In fact about three-quarters of an hour. Another example of Italian time. Had lunch at restaurant there – in my case an excellent veal steak. Returned to Lamole, bought a few more provisions and an ice cream, for which the Italians are justly famous. In the evening a brief splash of rain was a portent of things to come.

However, it was dry, sunny and warm on Monday, when we left at 9am for San Galgano, south-west of Siena, a picturesque roofless abbey with a chapel on a nearby hill. The chapel contains a sword plunged into a rock, which allegedly happened in the 12th century when SG himself gave up a life of fighting and turned to more spiritual matters. Sort of King Arthur in reverse. I had taken my sole driving slot on the way there, but now Roger took the helm as we headed for Siena, where we had without doubt the best meal of the holiday in a restaurant called Osteria Da Divo, on the Via Franciosa. Totally wonderful, and within a stone’s throw of the Duomo, which was impressive. We climbed up some kind of building adjoining a museum and got a good view of the town, which is stunning. Also visited Santa Maria della Scala, a church which has become an art gallery. Dot bought some stamps, and we located the other must-see in Siena, which is the Piazza del Campo, a huge shell-shaped open space occasionally used for horse-racing. By this time I was exhausted, but we circumnavigated the Piazza and then set a course back to the car park. Back at the house, we watched a DVD of Where Angels Fear to Tread, which is a truly dreadful film. Equally dreadful was the realisation that the satellite television promised did not include a subscription to World Cup channels. As things turned out, this was not quite so dreadful as it first seemed. England 1 USA 1; England 0 Algeria 0.

Unsurprisingly, we woke late on the Tuesday, and it was raining. OK, the rain was surprising, but the late start wasn’t. We spent an enjoyable hour or two later in Panzano, a charming nearby town that you could almost see from our house, but not quite. The weather improved, and we walked around the old part of the town before happening on the Academy of Good Taste, run by an eccentric guy who span a bewildering yarn, spoke good English and eventually sold us a small bottle of fierce liqueur made from figs. I think. We eventually left it with Yolande. We then encountered the town’s other character, a famous butcher called Dario Cecchini. His shop is a mite unusual (for a butcher) in that when you enter you are given a glass of wine and urged to sample such wares as pork dripping and olive oil on bread. A larger than life character, he didn’t seem all that worried about selling anything, though we eventually bought some cold cooked pork. The Murrays were delighted to find that one of his assistants came from Toronto. On arriving home Dot and I made our first and only venture into the swimming pool. In the evening we went to the village restaurant, which serves good food and is extremely friendly. You get free limoncello afterwards, and the bottle is left for you to help yourself. Unhappily, you can only drink a certain amount of limoncello, a fact I guess they’re well aware of.

Just finished the wonderful A Month in the Country by J L Carr and have started a book I found in the house – The Great Lover, by Jill Dawson, who I shared an office with at the UEA a few years ago. She is an excellent writer.

Lamole artists
A couple of artists well placed just off the Lamole road

Fairly quiet day on the Wednesday, with quite a bit of rain. I walked the Lamole loop (1.75 miles) and we drove into Greve and walked around, sometimes together and sometimes alone. Dot bought a bracelet. The shop-owner left us alone in the shop with countless precious items while she went to fetch the bracelet from another shop. Very trusting – quite common among Italian shopkeepers. In the evening we watched Mona Lisa, which I suppose can best be described as gritty.

We had refrained from going to San Gimignano on Wednesday because of the occasional rain, but we set off optimistically on the Thursday in bright weather. By the time we reached San Gimignano, however, dark clouds threatened. We had time to walk up to the centre of the town (after a brief bus shuttle ride) and climb the famous tower before it started raining hard. We dashed across into the church during what was almost a lull, and afterwards purchased an umbrella. While we sat under awnings for a snack, not far from a Meg Ryan lookalike, the heavens opened, and we all began to feel chilly. Not much we could do about that except eat, which seemed to work up to a point. The rain did ease off after a while, and we resumed our tour of the town, including a visit to a very impressive art gallery. This was my sort of town, and it was a pity about the weather. It poured again before we got back to the car, and even Roger had to buy an umbrella.

The only downside of San Gimignano is Poggibonsi, which you have to go through to get there. This is a nondescript town containing a jumbled mass of roads with no logic to them. On the way back I tried to avoid them but ended up on a narrow road up into the mountains. On the plus side we got a good view of San Gimignano, but we did have to go back and through Poggibonsi in the end. As we drove home the weather improved, but I began to feel quite ill: in fact I hadn’t been feeling particularly well all day. On arriving home I took antibiotics and stayed home while the others went to Lamole restaurant again.

Friday was sunny and quite warm again, but with a persistent wind. Barbara and Roger went off to visit another walled town, but Dot and I decided to stay at the house. We spent a lot of time reading (I finished The Great Lover, read a small book on Healing by Francis McNutt and started The Rough Guide to Bob Dylan, which contains lots of unusual information as well as the most literals I’ve ever seen in any book), then walked up to Lamole restaurant for a very slow lunch containing a delicious antipasti. Afterwards we walked up the hill a little way before returning to the house. B & R eventually made it home about 7.30pm, which is suspiciously late, but they said they didn’t get lost and had in fact found the best hill town in the world, or at least in Italy. We all had a late tea, packed and prepared for the return home.

The Italian job, parts one and two

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gondoliers
Gondoliers wait with offers for unsuspecting passers-by: view from our Venice hotel window

We are well and truly back from Italy. Arrived on Saturday night to a brisk gale that made the low temperature seem even lower, and plenty of rain too. Yes, it was an English midsummer. The journey had not been the smoothest. We left our rented villa at Lamole, in Chianti, about 9.45am (8.45 UK time), and arrived back in Norwich shortly before 9.30pm, so the whole journey took more than 12 hours. We have done Toronto-Norwich more quickly.

After a smart piece of navigation we managed to enter Florence on the right side (or left, going up), and although we went slightly astray, we ended up pretty soon at the car rental place. It was raining, and the usual suspects were all selling umbrellas instead of handbags. We dragged our luggage to the station, where we dithered about what to do. It soon transpired there was nothing worth doing because the station was overcrowded and underprovided, and so we thought we might as well get to the airport while Roger and Barbara waited for the Rome train. We got a taxi to the airport, where we arrived around noon. This in itself was a bit of a relief, as the usual Italian penchant for sloppy naming and signposting meant that I had thought there were two airports when there was only one. If you’re going to Florence, don’t be confused. Florence Airport, Amerigo Vespucci, Peretola or indeed Aeroporto di Firenze are all the same thing. Only one of them is a translation of another. No prizes. This did not increase my love of Florence, which was pretty low anyway following a 90-minute wait for our rental car when we arrived the previous Saturday.

At the airport we faced a two-hour wait before we could even check in. The Italians had apparently thought this could never happen, because there were practically no facilities until you had checked in – not even seats. We did eventually locate one row of seats upstairs and grabbed two, plus a bite to eat at the very small cafe. Just after 2pm I thought I would see if we could check in and found that we could. I also found that our flight had been delayed for nearly three hours because the aircraft would not get there until then. This is an example of what has been described as Italian time. It bears almost no relation to any other time. We attempted to check in anyway, but were told that we had to go the ticket office because we would miss our connection. This meant another queue, but with an unexpected bonus at the end. The excellent ticket office guy found a way to get us to Amsterdam in time.

We had to board a flight to Paris almost immediately (sitting separately), then at Charles de Gaulle airport find a new terminal for the flight to Amsterdam. All airports contrive to make transfers ridiculously difficult with poor signposting and the pointless requirement to go through security again, but we eventually made it to the boarding gate, and Dot was delighted because our names were called. We had to show them our paperwork from Florence. At this point Dot began to get very impressed. This time we did sit together – the plane was not full – but further concern materialised because the flight left nearly half an hour late. Somehow it caught up, and we were only about ten minutes late when we arrived at an almost deserted Schiphol. Again difficult to find where to go, but we asked a customs official and eventually found the KLM desk, who were extremely helpful, and we reached the boarding gate with enough time for Dot to buy a coffee, but not to drink it. This time the plane was more than half empty, and we again had a row of three seats to ourselves. Sheer joy. What could go wrong now?  Nothing. Phil, alerted by my phone call, picked us up and transported us home, and we were so tired, we didn’t unpack at all. I trotted down to Budgens to get bread and milk, passing through the nightclub girls shivering in their all-season miniskirts, and after a fried egg or two I went to bed. So did Dot, but without the eggs.

Ca d'Oro
The usual suspects inside the Ca d'Oro, beside the Grand Canal in Venice

Having failed completely to narrate clearly and chronologically, I guess I should return to the beginning, but in rather less detail. We left home by taxi at 8.20am on the 10th and had no trouble reaching Amsterdam via Norwich Airport, putting our watches an hour forward in the process. Found a delightful Cafe Chocolat at Schiphol and indulged a little, then took off for Venice at 3pm. Barb had recklessly booked a restaurant for 7pm, so we were under pressure after landing at 5pm. If I’d known how far the airport was from our hotel, I would have been even more worried. Our bags took a while; when they arrived we braved the heat to walk to the Alligula boats about 500-600 yards away. Fortunately we made the right choice, taking the more expensive (£25 each) fast gold boat which gave us time to reach our hotel – following a pretty tricky piece of map-reading – by about 6.30pm. This gave us just about time to get to the restaurant (after a rendezvous with the Murrays), and the meal was excellent – probably the second-best of the entire trip, but very expensive, as are most things in Venice. Afterwards we took a circuitous route home via the waterfront.

The next day was epic. According to my pedometer, which is pretty accurate, we walked over ten miles, covering some key sites in Venice, including the Ca d’Oro, the Rialto Bridge, the Accademia Bridge and St Mark’s Square, as well as numerous lesser known alleys and open spaces. Venice was not really as I expected: a real warren of streets and narrow canals. At one point we got separated. I was a few steps ahead, looked round, and the other three had vanished. I waited and nothing happened. I went back to where I had last seen them (only a few steps): nothing. I waited again, then was forced to assume they had taken an alternative route. Fortunately I had a map and knew where we were going: the Accademia Bridge. So I went there and waited – for over half an hour. Eventually, as I was trying to get through on the mobile, they turned up. Apparently they had paused to look in a shop window, then bizarrely crossed the Rialto bridge instead of of going straight past it to where I was waiting. Then they waited on the wrong side of the river. Once Roger twigged they were on the wrong side of the river, Dot persuaded them to head for the Accademia Bridge, because she knew what I’d do. With the help of a Venetian lady who spoke no English, they eventually made it.

I got to know the Accademia Bridge quite well, and after lunch nearby we booked for a concert in the evening, in a church right by the bridge. We then went back to our hotel, which was a delightful building with very pleasant staff. It was called the Liassidi Palace Hotel, and it would have been perfect, except that the air conditioning in our room wasn’t working, and then one of the strip lights started flickering and making a noise, even when it was turned off. The staff did their best to sort this, but it wasn’t ideal, though we slept better the second night.

But we are not up to the second night yet. After a rest in the hotel we went on another walk organised by Barbara, ending with an elaborate ice cream each. Then back to the hotel for a Bellini, followed by a return to the church (San Vitale) near the Accademia Bridge for the concert, by the all-male Interpreti Veneziani, a brilliant string group (about ten of them) who majored on Vivaldi but did a superb version of Bartok’s Danze Rumene. Really compelling stuff. And still the day wasn’t over: our way back went through St Mark’s Square, which was flooded! We could have taken our shoes off, but Dot had a bad blister which had burst, and I didn’t want to risk it, so we looked for another way, which was surprisingly difficult to find. It was literally like a maze, with many dead ends, but we eventually got to an area we knew and reached the hotel safely just after 11pm.

Wasting police time

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Oliver and Nana
Oliver and Nana in close conversation at Caddington

The day is almost upon us. Dot has disappeared into the city for what I thought was a short visit. Apparently not. It’s quite warm today, and after a lot more rain yesterday, it’s been dry so far. I have just finished my packing, though I expect much of it will be repacked or rearranged by Dot. My packing standards are not very high. Ed came round earlier to transfer some wedding photos on to an external hard drive, which seemed to work, though there was a bit of a problem with opening some files.

Dot is back now after purchasing a new handbag (very nice) and some make-up. Yesterday I went to Sutton School to retrieve a bag she’d left there. Pleasant enough drive until I got back to Norwich, when it started raining very hard. Hard to avoid heavy drops when I picked up my jacket from the cleaners. In the evening Dot stayed at home to entertain Anne, and I took two very heavy people to a Tuesday Group meeting at the Archers’. Lovely meal by Bridget.

After dropping my passengers off on the way home I had what must be considered a fortunate escape on the Anglia Square flyover. I was held up by another car and as we came over the top I saw police ahead, one of whom had a radar gun. While relieved, I find the whole situation really annoying. This was a dual carriageway flyover, not accessible to pedestrians, late evening, no-one around, and a limit of 30mph. So no safety element: just money-making – assuming they were fining people. If not, or even if they were, they should be doing themselves for wasting police time.

Had fish and chips for lunch. While I was waiting for the plaice to be cooked, a guy who was delivering to the shop asked me if I was still playing chess. Apparently he had been a member of the Sprowston High team under the tutorship of Graham Wright some 30 years ago. And he remembered my name! I must not be ageing too badly.

Checked in for our flight early this morning. It only remains now to book the taxi and get to the airport on time tomorrow morning. What can possibly go wrong? Don’t know, but somehow I always think something will. Flying in the face of reason, I think they call it.

Jazz and fruit

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Oliver, Amy, dinosaurs
Oliver about to lose his head in the Dinosaur Park while Amy looks on, slightly concerned

A bit cooler the last two days, with some quite heavy rain yesterday. Dull today, with a slight threat of rain, but nothing has materialised yet. I went into the city this morning to get some euros, having found 100 of them in my reserve currency position. Also bought a new battery for my Panasonic camera: oddly the Panasonic shop didn’t have one (despite knowing they were out and ordering one only for a previous customer), but the Norwich Camera Exchange did. A shop to be recommended. After purchasing the euros went to St Margaret’s again, this time for an art exhibition in which my cousin’s son Lewis (“Kitsune”) featured. Imaginative paintings of a surreal nature which were as good as almost anything else there.

This afternoon checked over my Italy file, revealing that our flight on Thursday is at 10.35am. Also discovered that our return airport, Florence, is also very small, which is encouraging. I don’t mind small airports, though I’d prefer it if they weren’t Italian. Being in Italy, though, I suppose the odds were that it would be Italian. Everything seems in order, and I will be checking in online early on Wednesday.

Yesterday Nicholas was leading Communion and remarked on the poor state of the hall, which is true enough. Someone has spilt an awful lot of wax on the carpet and made it worse by trying to clear it up using the wrong materials. The stool was badly marked, the altar table that Dot and I bought has been extensively scratched, and the loo seat has needed replacing for three weeks. Apparently it has been hard to find the right fittings. Rather depressing. When Rosemary was in charge, such things would have been dealt with so effectively that we wouldn’t have known they’d happened. Nicholas is a bit worried because the Bishop is visiting next Sunday, and by coincidence, most of the key members of the congregation are going to be away. Ho hum. No, it really is a coincidence. People are so busy.

In the evening Dot and I went to an Ambient Wonder event held upstairs because the downstairs was booked by someone else, who didn’t turn up. Good session, though, with mint julep by Anna. Jazz and the fruits of the Spirit. You have to think about that quite a lot. Former music group member Elspeth made a brief appearance before deciding it wasn’t for her. Cast of about 12, with two Germans. Friends of the Archers.

Warm time with grandchildren

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oliver and amy on tyres
Amy and Oliver on collision course at the Dinosaur Park. Hope their tyres hold up.

Very warm June so far, coinciding happily with visit of grandchildren: first time we’ve had them both together without one of their parents. We picked them up late on Wednesday. Dot had been to a meeting at Diocesan House, where she had a speaking role, and I waited outside and we continued south-west from there. The Watton road was quite pleasant until we reached Watton itself, which was totally jammed and took ages to free itself. The culprit: a combination of market day lorries and a complete absence of police to ensure vehicles could get through. When we eventually freed ourselves we had another pleasant stretch until the Brandon-Mildenhall road, which has a lunatic speed limit of 40 all the way past RAF Lakenheath. Almost dozed off. Rest of the journey was good. We had tea cooked by David, and then brought the children back to Norwich: a smooth journey featuring much I-Spying.

On Thursday we all visited Rosie and her nine dogs. Some trepidation on the part of the children, but they eventually got used to them, and Amy ended up with several of them in her arms. Cup of tea, cake and a tour of the gardens also featured. On to North Walsham, where we called in on Jessie briefly before heading back to Norwich. Dot’s MX5 had been in the garage overnight with a mysterious water leak, which turned out to be rain collecting where it should have drained out: in other words, blocked drainage holes. I picked it up en passant, dry and, in my case, £45 lighter. This was followed by the excitement of our having our hair cut by Linda, with Oliver surprisingly being more interested than Amy at first. Then went to Morrisons for some food, and I managed to drop a bag and fracture two bottles. How exciting is that? Fortunately no other harm done, and we ended up having fish fingers and chips (Oliver and me) and pasta, cheese and beans (Dot and Amy).

Yesterday was Dinosaur Park day, and we had a great time. Oliver was delighted to find all the stamps so that he could get a medal, and Dot had packed a picnic for us. Although there were a lot of people there, the place was easily big enough to accommodate us, and there were no long queues, even for ice creams. We arrived home in time for Oliver and I to present our highly rehearsed show on guitars and vocals, consisting of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (Oliver solo guitar), A Little Help from my Friends (Oliver lead guitar, Grandad rhythm) and Let it be (Grandad vocals and guitar). Huge audience response. Amy also had a show featuring various circus acts involving hula hoops and other items. Evening meal was at Prezzos, Daddy arriving from Caddington just in time.

Up pretty early this morning for excitement of various kinds. Went to shop to buy some additional food for lunch in the garden, and Daddy and children left shortly afterwards. (After the lunch, that is – not after seeing what I’d bought.) Rest of the day clearing up and watching TV. Dot had long-distance call from Canada about her healing and angel experiences. It was Roger’s brother John, who has written a book on similar experiences and wanted to use Dot’s stories when doing some talks on related topics.

Mother marries son in Norwich

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Ed and Jen
Mr and Mrs Reed exit the church after the ceremony

Busy time since I last posted. Failed to find anyone to accommodate Riding Lights actors, but it turned out not to matter: other avenues had yielded fruit. I’m not particularly good at persuading people to do things that they might find onerous, though when we put up Nigel Forde +1 in 1984 it was actually a lot of fun. Long time ago … the year I became chief sub on the Eastern Daily Press, and the year we moved to Aspland Road, making commuting so much easier for both me and David – walking to work and school respectively.

Rang up hospital this morning to inquire about Andrew, and he seems to be doing suspiciously well. No date yet for discharge, but I also spoke to The Langleys, and they are happy to have him back there, which would be nice, since we have his room nicely set up now.

I had a hearing test at Boots last Tuesday (free offer) and discovered my hearing was pretty much OK, though not perfect. – ie good for someone who’s about to get an old age pension! Have been trying to keep walking, though the weather has been very mixed. I managed a walk back to Eaton from Hethersett when Dot dropped me off there on Thursday (about four miles) and another walk back from Bally yesterday (2½).

The weather was excellent on Friday for the Paston reception to launch their plans for the church extension. We took Howard and Anna, who were impressed. Howard spent a lot of time reading the carvings in the church, and Lucy showed them The Book. Anna is keen to get it into a Castle Museum exhibition, tied in with Paston stuff they already have. The Paston Heritage Society people (Jo, Brigitte et al) were there in 21st century clothes, which was a bit disconcerting. They are usually in costume. When we emerged quite late from the church the sky was still blue, and the whole setting glorious.

By the next day, a complete change. As we arrived for Ed and Jenny’s wedding at Christ Church, New Catton, the lead-grey skies started spitting rain, and by the end of the service it was tipping down, which rather destroyed any chance of official photographs, though I took some informal ones. The formal ones were taken in a marquee after the wedding breakfast at Mannington Hall – a superb setting, even in the rain. The food was high quality, as were the speeches – some of the best I’ve heard. The wedding itself was unusual in that Ed’s mother married him: or to clarify slightly, the couple were married by the Rev Liz Cannon, Ed’s mother, who coincidentally Dot and I know from way, way back. Other friends present: David and Bridget, Vicky (with husband and daughter, very briefly), Tim Mace and Peter Pyke, a former member of our Tuesday group. At our table, with the Archers, were Liz’s sister Christina Potter and her husband Melford. Discovered they holiday frequently on Sanibel, but weren’t able to talk much about it, because it emerged as we were leaving the tables and moving into the bar area for the cake cutting. The cake, incidentally, was strikingly original: a creamy confection on top, with clusters of fairy cakes below.

On Sunday I was responsible for the sermon, and in the evening we invited some people round from church: as one of them was a vegetarian, another could not eat gluten or dairy and the third was a child, this was a bit of a challenge, but Dot surmounted it in her usual efficient fashion. Spent quite a bit of time helping the girl (a very bright six-year-old) to learn chess – at the instigation of her father.

Yesterday we went out for a meal with friends we met in Egypt but who go to St Luke’s. Spent most of the evening telling each other our life histories, which was surprisingly interesting. Earlier in the day we had been to Bally to pick up the picture I’d bought from Martin Laurance. We arrived at the same time as the Archers, who I suspect are stalking us. Introduced them to Annette, and when we left Bridget was considering buying a picture from her. Chatted to Annette, Martin and Rupert, and ran into Dot’s friend Maggie and her husband Malcolm. Now about to go to hear Caroline read poetry and sing in a church in St Benedict’s.