Monthly Archives: April 2011

Flood of puns from broken cistern

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A squirrel performs acrobatics to reach our peanuts

Pretty quiet Easter, really – partly because Dot was recovering from some kind of respiratory tract problem (cold, or allergy) and was less energetic than usual. I had intended to go to the Maundy Thursday service at St Luke’s but in the end, typically, didn’t. The weather was very warm until today, when a cold wind brought the temperature down, but not low enough to be unpleasant. On Good Friday, after food shopping, we took some flowers up to the Rosary and then some more to the cemetery at North Walsham. Following that we called in at Jessie’s for a cup of tea, and I managed to break something in her cistern, giving rise to a flood of puns on Facebook.

On Saturday David drove up and met Dot at Ethel’s while I cooked roast beef, which we enjoyed later on, followed by Dr Who, which continues to be remarkable. Sunday was a very busy day: I led the Communion service, which attracted a mammoth nine people, including me, the preacher (John Easton) and the music group (Dot and Phil). Felt good, though. Dot and I were slightly late for the traditional family meal at the Red Lion in Eaton, but not enough to make any difference. Always good food there, and nice to see the German side of the family (Birgit, Joe, Ilona, Elfrida). Afterwards David drove off home to Caddington – the children had been in Ireland with Vicky, and it was nice to see David on his own for a change – and Dot and I had a brief break at home before heading for the Seagull Theatre, Lowestoft, for another evening of poetry and song. Ian Fosten was on good form.

Today I spent some time in the garden, cutting down some stuff that was spreading far too quickly, and in the process removing some rose branches that Dot had apparently been trying to train over on to the trellis. Ho, hum. On the whole, a satisfactory hour or two, especially as I managed to resurrect the church’s Easter candle (see what I did there?). The wick had been unlightable, but I managed to cut the wax back and restore it to a healthy state. Sometimes my practicality amazes me.

While this was going on, Norwich City – who despite my pessimism had beaten Ipswich 5-1 last week – also came back from the dead to beat Derby 3-2 with a goal in the 95th minute, triggering incredible scenes at Carrow Road and in our garden, where Dot was listening to the radio and talking to Anne, who spent a couple of hours with us while Philip was at the match.

Have finished another couple of books: Orchid Blue, by Eoin McNamee, which is about the dubious conviction of a young man for murder in Northern Ireland – poetically and beautifully written, but suffering from the disadvantage that it was a true story and thus deprived of any satisfying twist in the tail; and The Song Before it is Sung, by Justin Cartwright, which is also based on true history but manages to introduce enough fictional content to give it the necessary uncertainty – again, beautifully written and containing some fascinating ideas about different reactions to the horrors that life sometimes throws at us (in this case, Hitler). Conjured up place and period in stunning fashion.

Lured into trying something new again

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The other award-winning den at Bewilderwood, with its makers

Very, very tired. Possibly something to do with the glass of Sauvignon Blanc I’ve just enjoyed; possibly the heat (have just returned from the Rosary, where I removed dead flowers from parents’ grave and caught guilty-looking couple exiting with lilac from a cemetery tree); possibly the fact that Dot has had a cold/cough and I haven’t been sleeping too well; possibly the amount of stuff I’ve been doing over the last few days.

Today I’ve been trying to put together a booklet of my Lent poems. Downloaded some software that  seemed promising, but it would only work if you had a printer that printed on both sides (I think), so I have now resorted to juggling the original pages, which will take a bit longer. Why do I get lured into trying something new? The perennial question.

Yes, it is much, much warmer. Summer is with us. I just hope it doesn’t take a good look round, decide it’s had enough and go away just as we head north for our Scottish holiday. No sign of movement yet. Dot was not at all well on Monday, which meant we didn’t go to Alison’s funeral; and to round the day off, Yosif failed to show up for our chess game yet again. Rumour has it that he’s in Bulgaria, east of Hemsby.

I’ve done quite a bit of work for Howard this week but not received any acknowledgement for the last, most complicated piece, which was an EDP-style article on a plan they have to improve orthopaedic pathways. It sounded more exciting in the article, I have to say, which may be why I haven’t heard back.

On Tuesday I spent much of the morning walking around Norwich with Rob Knee, researching the Paston sites. We then met up again in the evening for the Norwich Writers’ Circle prizegiving at the Assembly House. I won the smallest prize for a minimalist poem, which left me unreasonably less than satisfied, as I had nothing else in the anthology. However, I was the only Norwich prizewinner, and the first prizewinner came from Northern Ireland, so I suppose I should be happy. Walked part way home with Rob, his wife Penny and son George. Hilary was also there after a couple of days of being whisked to hospital with suspected heart attacks (probably angina). She wants me to do a workshop on journalism for her handicapped group, but I have nothing against them, so why should I? I suppose I might. Meanwhile the Cracknells’ son Finnan has been in hospital with a muscle infection, which sounds nasty, but he seems to be making a good recovery.

On my way into the city to buy a ball for Oliver, I ran into Joy, who used to clean for us. Mind you, I didn’t work that out until I’d nearly got home. Her daughter Tiffany also “did” for us at one point, but I can’t remember their surname. Vicky M introduced them to us, but she can’t remember either. Frustrating, especially as I said I’d send her a poetry book.

Far back in the mists of time, last Friday,Dot got a spare ticket to go to watch Norwich beat Nottingham Forest 2-1 – an exciting match, but not as exciting as tonight’s derby at Ipswich, which we really need to win, but probably won’t. On the Saturday the Greens came round for a meal, and we had a predictably convivial time, though Anna had to leave early because her shingles was playing up. Howard went with her, which is only right.

By the way, Dot has had her P4C visit to Holland in September confirmed – exciting. She’s spent most of the day in the city with Anne, which must mean she’s feeling better. She has new shoes too.

Bears walking off the shelves

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One of the two award-winning dens, with its creators

Delightful week, despite the chill wind for much of it. Son and grandchildren visited, and Philip and Jane and their two children camped nearby in the Premier Inn; we spent most of the time together, and I even missed an Archant agm, I was having so much fun.

Our family arrived on Monday. I was due to play chess against Yosif in the evening, but typically he didn’t show up, and I returned for a quiet evening. On Tuesday the Coomes arrived, and we organised lunch and supper for nine. In the afternoon most of us walked into the city by way of the Cathedral Close (leaving Dot fixing the evening food) and then went to the Museum, followed by the Norwich City shop, where I bought a Canaries bag for Oliver and two teddy bears for Amy – one pink and one a traditional yellow. Apparently the NCFC teddy bears are walking off the shelves in the current climate of optimism. As I write City are 2-1 up against Nottingham Forest, being watched by Dot, who got a free ticket from the Robinsons.

On Wednesday we all went to Bewilderwood and survived the chill quite well, considering. Ended up in a den-making competition, with Dot spearheading one, and Phil and David leading the other. Both did exceptionally well, I thought. Another meal at ours in the evening, but the trend changed on Thursday, which was a bit warmer, in a relative sort of way. Everyone except me went to Cromer (Dot by train), bercause I had to wait for the alarm to be serviced and then go to the dentist to have a crown fitted. Not an actual crown, though that would probably have been cheaper. The process (with earlier preparation) left me with little change from £1200, which is about £1000 too much for any tooth work, in my opinion. Of course, I wouldn’t tell the dentist that. They have drills.

Owing to an earlier blunder, I had booked Dot and me into the Maddermarket in the evening, so instead of enjoying a leisurely meal in the Premier Inn with the others, we had a quick starter and then hurtled up to the theatre for an excellent performance of Alan Bennett’s 40 Years On. Sat next to James Goffin – to whom I owe my four years’ teaching at UEA (I took over his course) – and afterwards had a chat with David Newham, another former colleague and long-established Maddermarket actor, who said he was hoping for a part in the forthcoming Under Milk Wood.

Today was much warmer, but it was also the day of departure for our visitors. In the morning we took them up to Mousehold and had a game of football which I feel may take me several days to recover from. Good fun, though. Oliver is dead keen, and very skilful too. Amy organised a party lunch with some assistance from Dot (or should that be the other way round?), and I said goodbye early to meet Anna at the Castle. We were supposed to proceed to Dragon Hall for a meeting on Paston plans, but Sarah at Dragon Hall postponed twice within 24 hours, so I had to spend almost an hour with Anna, which was of course a real trial, not to say very pleasant indeed. Someone needs to get an armlock on Sarah, though.

Blue sky, cold wind

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David and Kristine Coomes at Blakeney

That blue sky is still with us – or with us again, depending on when you last looked. Reasonably warm today, so the visiting Coomes took a walk with us in the Rosary (Kristine is big on cemeteries) before heading home. Earlier we’d been to church, where I led the service and was relieved that Paul Cracknell, scheduled to preach, rose from his sick bed to join us. Odd sequence of events leading up to this: Howard was down to preach but had arranged a visit to a nephew in Scotland; apologised that he’d found no-one to take his place; at Dot’s suggestion I asked Margaret to do it, and she accepted, albeit reluctantly. Then, midweek, I got a call from Paul telling me what he would be preaching on: apparently Howard had effected a swap with him but hadn’t mentioned it to me. After discussions with both Paul and Margaret it was agreed that Paul would do it, as it was his last opportunity before he and Heather left the church. Then, on Saturday morning, I saw a general Tweet from his wife Heather saying he’d taken to his bed with flu. Cue panic from me and an attempt to work together a brief talk in case he failed to recover. But he did make it, and gave what I thought was an inspiring sermon.

Not a good week for organising things. Earlier had made several attempts to fix a date for five Paston poets to meet to discuss project; I went offline for an evening and in my absence they settled on a date I couldn’t do. So I came back with an alternative, and now I think we’re fixed on the afternoon of June 26. But it was a bit of an effort.

Back to the Coomes: they arrived on Saturday afternoon, and after coffee and biscuits we went to Blakeney for tea and scones at the Blakeney Hotel first-floor lounge, with its famous view over the marshes. Following this a brief walk out along the cut, but there was a bitterly cold wind despite the inviting blue sky. So in fairly quick order we drove on to Salthouse, where we enjoyed a brief foray on to the beach over the shingle bank, then on through Cromer to the cemetery at North Walsham. You remember that Kristine likes cemeteries? This one featured in a poem I wrote, and so there was a literary link. Not quite so cold there, but it wasn’t long before we proceeded via Field Lane (literary link number two) and through Wroxham home. Enjoyed a late dinner at Bishop’s and the revealing walk back along Prince of Wales Road just after 11pm.

Two more walks last week: on Wednesday I did the Paston walk around Norwich and got very tired in warm sunshine. Took a long time over it, though it’s probably less than three miles. St Peter Hungate was unfortunately shut when it shouldn’t have been, and I couldn’t find William Paston’s grave in the Cathedral, despite asking. Wasn’t feeling very well that day. The next day I did a 2-3-mile walk with Dot along the River Tiffey from Wymondham Abbey after a visit to Park Farm. Quite a bit cooler, but still pleasant, though the walk was not one I would recommend: too much wire, and the circular aspect was closed “due to lambing”. Everyone we met had a dog, and the Abbey itself was shut. What’s that all about?

On Friday we took a load of stuff to the tip, which was only slightly less picturesque. Got rid of an old box, which I suddenly felt sentimental about, because it harked back to my childhood. Wrote a poem about it.

Crab apple jelly in church

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Flowers on my parents' grave

Odd day yesterday. Felt tired out and on edge: walked into city to pay in cheques and got cold and wet in a sudden shower. Then played very good game of chess in the evening in a match against Fakenham which we won 2½-1½. Probably not enough to stop us getting relegated, but a good result nevertheless. Not as good as Norwich City last Saturday, who managed 6-0 against Scunthorpe.

Bitty sort of week all round. Had a chat with Phil and Joy on Friday about a situation at their church, then drove them to the doctor’s during the rush hour, which wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it might be. In the evening we had the Cracknells and Roberts from St Augustine’s round for a very pleasant meal and conversation. Heather C is training to be a vicar and Ruth R is about to become a mother for the second time, around my birthday. Her child will be roughly 66 years younger than me.

We had our hair cut on Saturday, and I was feeling distinctly odd for most of the day – so much so that we decided not to go to the cinema as we’d intended. Bit better on Sunday, which featured lunch at church, orchestrated by aforementioned Ruth R. Lovely atmosphere appreciated by new woman (well, new to us) and by everyone else, I think. It was Mothering Sunday, and Nicholas went for the “God, our Mother” approach, which worked well. Music seemed good too.

In the afternoon the weather was nicer and after putting some flowers on Mum and Dad’s grave at The Rosary we proceeded to North Walsham to put more flowers on graves – in this case Dot’s parents’ and sister’s. Called in at Jessie’s, but she was out with Roger, and so we headed for home, but we followed a sign we’d often seen for an exhibition at a church, and it turned out to be Stratton Strawless, former home of the Marsham family, one of whom had been a tree enthusiast. This was mainly what the exhibition was about, but there was something deeply attractive about the place. Dot used the facilities to make herself a cup of tea, and we bought some crab apple jelly. The sun was shining, and the church was an unusual one, with a low, square flint tower. Didn’t see a soul while we were there, but felt we had been made very welcome.

Cold and grey with showers again today, but the forecast is good for the rest of the week. I’m getting behind on my Lent poems and need to catch up. Have read two very good but very different books recently: Salt, by Jeremy Page – a novel of the North Norfolk marshes, with a dash of the Fens, and some unusual characters, beautifully written; and The Woodcutter, by Reginald Hill, a totally compulsive thriller set partly in the Lake District. Both books gained a lot for me from being set at least partly in places I know very well: a key section of the Hill book is set on the Pillar high level route, which I have walked and can easily visualise. The Page book spends much of its time on the marshes between Morston and Blakeney, another well known and favourite spot of mine.