Popped up to Hungate on Saturday to meet the Knees and deliver some copies of the Paston Footprints books for sale there while the exhibition is on. Hardly anyone there, but volunteer Brendan said there had been quite a few: the exhibition is open every Saturday and Sunday.

Had a cup of tea with the Knees afterwards, and another one with the Hendersons in the afternoon. We sat in the garden: neither of them seemed very well – Paul is on antibiotics for a chest infection, and Maryta appeared to have a cold, which was rather worrying. Dot baked a cake, because she knew they were coming.

On Sunday we had an experimental  Communion with Liz C and Liz D. Dot and I sang one of my songs during the actual Communion (Hear my cry), and I got some nice reaction from Liz C and Jenny, who hadn’t heard it before.  Chris and Ray weren’t there, although Chris seems to be recovering very well from her major operation in London last weekend.

In the evening we went to St Luke’s for a performance by the Oriole Singers and St Gregory’s Orchestra of a Schubert Mass and a cantata called The Road to Emmaus by local composer Peter Cresswell, who was present. Audience not as big as for his Christmas work, but actually this was much better: some good tunes and good soloists. Vicky was on flute.

More culture on Monday, which we spent at Snape and Aldeburgh, starting with lunch at the Crown Inn, Snape, with Howard, Anna and Penny, and continuing with a remarkable performance by Michael Barenboim on violin at Aldeburgh church. We had unreserved seats, but a really good view from the side aisle. Two Bach pieces and Bartok excellent: two modern pieces rather less so, unless you were fascinated by violin technique.

Afterwards Dot and I returned to Snape for a walk and a look at an exhibition of drawings of cathedrals in charcoal, with which I wasn’t particularly impressed. We sat not far from Michael Barenboim for tea in the Maltings cafe, then raced back to Norwich to catch most of the England-Tunisia World Cup game. Quite frustrating until we scored in the last few minutes.

Speaking of racing, our grandchildren did superbly well in their school races: Amy won her 800 metres, about which she had been worrying, and Oliver won his 800m and 1500m. Obvious where they get it from. 🙂

Even more culture yesterday, when we travelled to Oxnead with Judy to watch a performance of Robert Paston’s  Whirlpool of Misadventures in the hall grounds. I don’t know what I expected, but it was brilliant, starting in the main banqueting room and moving all round the grounds, including the church. Everything about it was top class: the direction and script, the acting and singing. It was put together by Holly Maples, an American, who I knew from a volunteers’ event earlier in the year. She was responsible for the script and direction, some of the acting and some excellent singing. I congratulated her afterwards, and we also had a word with some of the other actors after we’d had half a cider in the bar (orangery). All very clever – the audience were drawn into it instead of standing (or sitting) separate all the time.

So going to Jurnet’s in the evening was a bit of an anti-climax. I never really feel at ease there, but there was some good poetry from Sue Burge – a bit of local celebrity. There was also some pretty bad poetry. Hilary performed an excellent one about being in love with the sea, and I was astonished to find that almost no-one seemed to have heard of sculptor and jazz musician David Holgate (I read Never going away, which is dedicated to him). I also read Distant funeral, then walked home. Meanwhile, Dot was picking up our golden wedding cake from Marion’s.

This morning, after I dropped off Dot for an x-ray on her knee at the hospital, I drove to the chemist for a renewed prescription and dropped off a GDPR form at the printers.