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.