As first weeks in August go, this one is not in line for any major awards. As I write, Andrew is staying with us and is asleep on the sofa, Dot is ill in bed with a throat infection, and Phil and Joy are having their leaking pipe fixed – the duration of which work will determine whether they can come to Andrew’s birthday meal or not. So I’ve booked for five at the Rushcutter’s and may end up with two. Andrew and I have already been out to buy shoes, clothes and some fruit, as well as a photograph frame (it’s his birthday, and I’ve given him two new pictures of the grandchildren).
Yesterday’s expedition to fetch him from Coventry was a bit of a nightmare, though if it had been by way of the M25, it could have been worse. There has been a massive hours-long roadblock there following an accident. It didn’t take me too long to get to Coventry, though the roads were busy and I adopted the usual diversion at the end. On the way back there was a huge hold-up on the A14 both sides of Huntingdon. Stayed in it for a long time and then diverted on to the Papworth road and on to the A428, which proved pretty successful. But we had to divert again before Elveden, which ate up more time.
The week didn’t start too well, either: I lost a chess game to Dave Hall. Not an unusual event, though I have beaten him on occasion, and I played quite well. But I will probably not be playing much this season: I am taking a chess sabbatical. Had a long chat with him afterwards involving prostate problems and their implications – and much besides. On Tuesday, to round it off, I had my sixth-monthly blood test. Went smoothly enough, but it’s the results that count.
Wednesday was good, too. It was a beautifully warm day, and a group of poets and artists walked around Oxnead to get a flavour of one of the most impressive of the Pastons’ residences. Or at least the location of it. The modern version is currently being transformed into a wedding and concert venue, according to the workmen we spoke to. But the setting is fantastic, and the tiny Oxnead Church has a lot of fascinating stuff in it, though it has been “badly messed about”, according to Teri, the stained-glass artist and architectural student I gave a lift to. Others present: Kay Riggs, who organised it; Carole Gilfillan; Kit Price-Moss; Adrian Ward; and Rob Knee. The poets amonog us agreed afterwards to try to write three new poems (at least) by the beginning of September, with the aim of producing a book by Dragon Hall time – the beginning of November. Teri cam in for a drink, and we were joined by Mary from next door, for whom I had taken in a parcel. Opportunity to point out a wasps’ nest in their gutter.
Dot was at Barbara’s on Thursday, clearly getting infected with something, and I took the opportunity to update my website with a lighthearted piece on road safety in Scotland that attracted an unpleasant anonymous e-mail by someone with a humour bypass. That done, I wrote most of my sermon for Sunday, but I still have to complete it. Don’t really know why I’m doing this first, especially as I wasted an hour or so installing updates to my operating system and browser. In the evening I went to a Paston trustees meeting, which went on a bit, with the female contingent eagerly discussing things either way in the future or unlikely to happen at all. We shall be busy over the next six months on a coastal architecture project for which we have £3000 funding. So that will be fun, and might concentrate people’s minds.