Monday night turned out very well. Not only did I avoid hearing the Ryder Cup result and was able to watch the tightest of finishes without knowing that Europe won by a single point, but I won my chess game too. That match was also a tight affair: my team beat King’s Lynn 2½-1½, and I won the deciding game. Just call me McDowell. That meant we went through to the next round of the Williamson Cup, where we will almost certainly lose to hot favourites Norfolk and Norwich. Ho hum. It must all mean something.

I continued my winning ways by beating my nephew Joe 3-o at rapid chess on Wednesday, which is better than I usually do. Meanwhile I had been working on my course for church magazine editors, which after seeing Parish Pump editor Anne Coomes today I am still not sure will happen. She is very keen, but it is hard to pin down exactly what’s required. I picked her up from Belsey Bridge (formerly Ditchingham) conference centre just before noon and we had lunch at the White Horse in Trowse. Good fish and chips. We then spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the course, what would and what wouldn’t work, plus other more personal matters before I dropped her off at the airport just after 5pm for her trip back to Manchester and home.

Dot meanwhile had spent a sparkling sunny day at Diocesan House followed by a visit to a school at Carbrooke. She is now at the new-look Ambient Wonder event – First Thursdays – mainly in order to get a video from Matt. I was excused on the grounds of looking tired. And feeling tired actually: Anne had what she described as the end of a cold, and I am a bit nervous about being exposed, especially as I have to drive the P4C stars to Henley on Monday.

Before that I have to write and deliver a sermon. I am now officially a trustee of the Paston Heritage Society, having been voted in by Lucy and Jo. Lucy has to spend some days in Papworth with a chest infection, so I am suddenly 50% of active trustees. I ought to know more about it than I do. Today was National Poetry Day. That ought to rhyme, but it doesn’t. Typical.