This time last year I was in hospital, emerging from a very painful post-operative three days. Now I’m waiting for news of when I can have another operation. Bit disappointing, but so many people are worse off that I think I can put up with it. Of course I won’t say that if I die during it. For obvious reasons. It’s actually a much smaller deal and shouldn’t be too much trouble.

Today I visited Welborne Arts Festival – a great event in a little village not far out of Norwich – to see how they had presented the Norwich 20 Group’s Voicing Visions exhibition. Answer: very well. Not everything made it into the tent, but I was more than happy to see that three of my four poems did – and, naturally, three of my four artists’ pictures. The weather was sunny and warm, with forecast showers not materialising, and there was plenty going on. Lots of art, from the very good to the mediocre; sculpture; hazel-weaving; clowns; horses; and an interview with an author. Plus some excellent music from Axel Loughrey (pictured, singing blues, folk and indie with a touch of Velvet Underground); Nappertandy (Irish duo singing and playing traditional Celtic tunes); and Taillevent (a nine-strong group from Brittany who sang Breton maritime songs). Also a very nice atmosphere, and once I again I met the guy who really, really knows me well and I can’t place at all. Spent three hours there and ate a cheese baguette.

Dot meanwhile was in the city with Anne and came home with some excellent cherries from the market, plus a butter dish and some new shoes. Yesterday she visited two schools near the coast and ended up at Gorleston instead of Bradwell. I was about to give her directions to get back when the school sent out the secretary to retrieve her. I spent the day writing my sermon for tomorrow, but also walked to the river bank behind Carrow Road to see if any work was being done on clearing a path. There isn’t. It’s all pretty disgusting: a huge piece of waste ground on which coaches are parked and where people appear to be dumping anything they fancy. Or don’t fancy, I suppose. Pity. It could so easily be turned into a pleasant riverside path.