We’ve had some pretty dreary weather recently; so it was nice to see the sun when I came down to make a cup of tea at 7.45am. It’s now 11am and has reverted to grey skies, but at least it’s not raining. Dot is engaged in a Zoom DSSO meeting, which will last all morning, I should imagine.
Last Saturday was a similar day weatherwise, with a bit less rain than the day before. Again stayed in and didn’t get much above 2000 steps. Saturdays have been very bad for walking this month. After lunch we called in at the Hendersons – first time for months. M was in a pretty bad state, kept relatively quiet by medication but repeatedly asking to go out. Holly and Joe were both there (with dogs) and in pretty good form, though Paul didn’t look all that well.
After supper we watched a one-man online play put on by Ancient House Museum at King’s Lynn, for some reason. It was actually very well done, based on two Sherlock Holmes cases. The actor answered some questions afterwards and came over very well. We then listened to another Radio 4 Bob Dylan programme, during which Tangled Up in Blue was voted by listeners as the best Dylan song ever, which is clearly absurd for so many reasons. Bob Geldof talked too much and didn’t make an awful lot of sense. A poet (can’t remember who) picked out Visions of Johanna and She’s Your Lover Now, which are two great songs. You can always rely on poets.
At the the other extreme we watched a few minutes of the voting on the Eurovision Song Contest, in which the UK got zero points. Happily we missed all the songs. Happily too Brentford and Swansea went through to the Championship play-off finals – they had finished third and fourth; so it was a good result. Sorry, Hilary. Sunderland also went out of their play-offs. Sorry, Paul.
Sunday was showery but not too cold, and we got to church and back in the dry. It was Pentecost Sunday, and Liz C did an inspiring sermon. I did the prayers. Had tea and biscuits after the service for the first time I can remember since normality reigned. While eating lunch we watched highlights of those football deciders I mentioned, then spent some time sorting out my songs – was somewhat surprised at how many I’ve written. We found a spot between showers to go for a walk round the back of Carrow Road – a route Dot has calculated as ideal, step-wise. Then watched another three episodes of The Killing, which continues to be first-class.
Andrew FaceTimed during one of the episodes, and we had a short chat. He was watching Frozen on TV, but I think his DVD player is working OK. He is very vague about stuff like that – and all other stuff. We also watched the deciding Premiership games on MOTD, though they worked out badly as always. Liverpool won (yawn) and Chelsea came fourth despite losing because Spurs chose that moment to come good and beat Leicester 4-2 away. The only good thing was that Spurs finished above Arsenal – oh, and Kane got the Golden Boot.
Monday started sunny; so we walked into the city early on, though I wasn’t feeling particularly well for some reason. Bought some marmalade in Jarrolds and then Dot got some new shoes in Shuropody. We had tea/coffee outside at the top of London Street, then walked home through the Close, arriving just before it started to rain. The afternoon was pretty wet, but it was sunny again in the evening. Spent some time in the afternoon on the computer and submitted a couple of poems. Poetry books – On a Knife Edge – arrived from Suffolk Poetry Society containing one of my tanka series.
David FaceTimed later and seemed very well: it’s pretty warm in Canada. Later still we watched Call the Midwife and The Pursuit of Love, during which I fell asleep. We also listened to another Dylan programme on Radio 4: Verbatim, which cleverly interspersed some of his own words from interviews with the odd song. Sometimes very odd. Put water in the piano, which I do every three months on the instruction of the tuner.
More rain yesterday, but Dot dodged it as she drove to Thurton School – got very confused trying to avid roadworks on the way back, but eventually ended up at Morrison’s, which is normal. Meanwhile I caught up on the bit I missed in The Pursuit of Love, which proved to be quite a long bit. In the afternoon Dot Zoomed with Barbara and then spent a considerable time finishing off her p4c pack. It looks pretty good, though I haven’t read it all the way through yet. I hope it’s successful – she’s put an awful lot of work into it.
I sent out some charity cheques, walking up to the post office during a lull in the rain and then taking in the Rosary, which was very green and lush, and also very still. Earlier I had rung Phil K to see how he was, and discovered that he may well have Parkinson’s as well as bladder cancer. Obviously he’s very worried, but the Parkinson’s is still to be confirmed: no obvious symptoms yet. The cancer may have been successfully removed – he is on precautionary chemo. So all results are possible.
Discovered I didn’t much care for Goan Tomato Soup, which was no surprise, and watched two more episodes of The Pact, which is intriguing and marginally ridiculous at the same time. The leading heroine would have to be insane to behave the way she does, and in real life all the sealed lips on which the plot depends would never happen.