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.