Just back from a North Walsham day – starting at the printer’s, where we discussed printing of material for Dot’s P4C folder with the owner, who happened to be the organist at our wedding in 1968. Then on to Elderton Lodge for truly wonderful sandwiches in a picturesque setting, then to Dot’s cousin Rosie’s, where I took the picture above and where we met her five new dogs for the first time. I am not desperately keen on dogs, but these five would have to stand on each other’s shoulders to give me any trouble. Had further sustenance there in the form of tea and cake, and from there we went the short distance to Jessie’s for more of the same – except that this time it was mince pies, which I could eat for England, unfortunately. It all took the edge off a very slight recurrence of flu symptoms, which I am sure will quickly subside.

Very cold day today, but it was milder yesterday, when (working backwards) I won a game of chess for my club against the aptly named Johnny Danger: mine was the only win in a 2-2 draw. Some consolation for last week’s fiasco. Earlier Barbara had been up to help Dot choose P4C folders, and we all had lunch at Caffe Italia, where I ran into the Mercury elite having what was presumably their Christmas lunch. Warm greetings ensued: Julia, Terry Redhead, Ivan, Jane, Terry Reeve, Tim Warner and the chief reporter, a charming girl whose name I have forgotten. I expect it will come back to me.

Much present-wrapping and card-writing over the past few days, but it’s mostly done now, except for close family. The City Council binmen have again failed to materialise, but phone calls seem to get nowhere. On Friday we had a “completely certain” assurance and “guarantee” that they would come, but of course they didn’t, and still haven’t. This time I was told it would definitely be Wednesday (tomorrow). I said I didn’t believe the council spokesperson, and she seemed unsurprisingly unsurprised by this.

Last Thursday’s Ambient Wonder event was hard to assess. Not many people came into the church, but I guess numbers aren’t everything. I’m still not sure it’s the right thing for the right place. Quite a cold night, both inside and outside the church.

On Friday a double whammy, starting with Archant pensioners’ lunch at the Jarvis hotel, which was as usual pleasantly nostalgic. I failed to win a place at the former subs’ table because of the press, as the King James Version might put it, and landed up with the cleaners but between Frances Burrows and Frances Pearce, which was a definite plus. In the evening (second whammy), former colleague Ian Bullock came round for a chat which extended almost to midnight.

On Saturday, after a bit of book shopping in the afternoon, we went to the Robinsons’ for a Moroccan meal, which was very pleasant. Philip is worried about the Russians turning off the gas, which I suppose is possible. I am worried about meteorites.

On Sunday evening we went for a curry with Heather, Simon and Sam at the excellent Ali Tandoori in Magdalen Street, and had an excellent time. En route from pre-Indian drinks at the King’s Head we ran into Dot’s cousin Roger and his son Philip. After the meal we had a further drink at the Maid’s Head, where Dot has discovered a cosy snug. Heather was suffering a bit from a bone at the bottom of her spine which she damaged years ago but has suddenly played up again for no apparent reason.

Now we are waiting to see how many people turn up for our Tuesday group, at the same time wondering how David and Vicky and family will get on on their flight to Lapland tomorrow, where they apparently have an appointment with Father Christmas. He had better be on the ball, or Amy will have something to say to him about it.