Roadblocks and diversions

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Caroline and Teri try to get a better but precarious look over the church wall and into the hall grounds. Kay looks on admiringly.

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.

Doing without extra bread

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Strange weather: after a warm Thursday, it was really chilly the next two days; today it’s warm again, with bright blue sky and everything you’d expect from summer. This is the day Matthew leaves us for Cringleford and the Cracknells, which is nicely alliterative. He was at church with us this morning but stayed behind to wire up the new Matt Creber-patented PA system. Hope he hasn’t electrocuted himself. Owing to a combination of expected and unexpected absences, I found myself leading, preaching and interceding. Lesson was the feeding of the five thousand, which sums up Christianity in action pretty well, I think.

Neat link to Norwich Youth for Christ, whose barbecue Dot and I attended on Thursday evening, arriving so late that the barbecue had closed down and had to be revived. I have great admiration for director Mark Tuma, who is laid back and positive at the same time. NYFC put the principles of feeding the five thousand into action, in that they do what needs to be done without getting extra bread in first.

On Friday we had a very long lunch with the Eagles, who arrived at about 12.30pm and didn’t leave till nearly 7pm. Vicky joined us for a while, and Matt popped in. Later Dot and I were taken by Matt for an evening meal at Prezzo’s, which was very kind of him. Our protests fell on deaf ears.

Saturday we had our hair cut by Linda, and I spent much of the rest of the day writing my sermon, while Dot created a new clear area under the hedge in the garden, which was immediately occupied by the local robin.

Have just discovered my father’s father was in the army at the beginning of the 20th century – the King’s Royal Rifle Corps. He was 19 when he joined up.

Couldn’t compline

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From Palmer Circle to Cape Haddock: Roger, Barbara and Chrissy Murray

Strangely warm. Have just walked back from the city after lunch with Keiron at Costa Coffee in London Street, and I was actually reminded of Ontario. K has just gone to a three-day week at Archant and is not happy: I cannot say more. On the bright side, he is producing three books: a biography of an East End Jewish fixer (David Lidvitinov, possibly); a bumper book of dinosaurs for teenage readers; and (as editor) translated poetry by a medieval Hebrew poet from Norwich. Quite a range. He is also ecstatically happy (though in sleep debt) about his family: Rowan, Isla and Lottie.

Earlier I went with Dot and Anne to the pitch-and-putt at Mousehold, leaving them to swing clubs while I walked home through Mousehold and over St James Hill. Felt quite fit, which is nice.

Last night we had an unusual evening at Elvira’s, celebrating her birthday (on the 12th) and although she didn’t know it, our wedding anniversary. We had expected a few people from church, and indeed Phil, Nicholas and Debbie H were present, but so were several others we didn’t know – mainly from her Spanish class. Peruvian soup and bread, plus cake and banoffee pie, with wine and tea. Interesting evening, with Nicholas being questioned about his book and one of the other guests (Dawn) apparently receiving messages from beyond – at some earlier date – aimed at preventing her emigrating.

Slightly different ambience for our dinner at the Greenacres’ in Wymondham last Saturday, though death was not far away. Our host, David, had just survived a heart attack, and the mother of another guest, Denise, had passed on within the previous few days. Surprisingly pleasant in the circumstances. Denise’s husband Tim sort of knew Dot from the education world, and David’s wife Sheila is a head teacher I have done some work for.

Earlier in the day I had been working hard on a Paston walk I was leading on Sunday, and the pace did not let up on the day itself. It began with Howard leading a church service. As we hadn’t been there for a couple of weeks, several people wanted to talk to us, so I was late getting away and didn’t get to Paston until just after 1.30pm – the start time. Lurched into it a bit and got a date wrong, but they turned out to be a nice group (of about 8), and everything went well after that, though two of them lived in Paston and had more local knowledge than I did.

At Edingthorpe Church we were joined by Dot, who had followed me out at a more leisurely pace in the MX5, and we continued to Bromholm Abbey, where we had permission to look round for the first time. By then it was getting very late, and after dropping two members (to be picked up) we started back along the sea front, but a stiff wind was keeping the tide in, and it was clearly going to be hit-or-miss whether we would be able to walk up the beach as far as the gas site. To be safe, we went in to the road and walked along that back to the church. Happily the refreshment providers had stayed on to revive us after our 6½ miles. Satisfying, but very tiring, and Dot and I were both struggling to keep our eyes open as we drove home. There was a compline at 6.30, but we were just too tired to wait. Couldn’t compline.

Monday was Kathleen’s funeral at Earlham Crematorium. Ten family members – Paul, Josephine, Dot, me, Joe, Pat, Stephen and wife, Mark and wife – plus about a dozen from Park Church. Paul gave his usual forthright talk, which included some interesting stuff about Kathleen’s life. The service was led by  the Park pastor, and we had refreshments afterwards at Park. One or two blasts from the past – Neville and Ann Barber, Ada Wurr (wife of David) and others. David is apparently permanently ill with brain damage after contracting an infection following a biopsy for prostate cancer: I felt very ill after both my biopsies – is this a hidden danger that  no-one mentions? David still has the cancer, but it’s very slow-growing. Not a happy state of affairs – I can count myself fortunate.

Still working hard on paper (things like church finances, for instance) on Tuesday, and we had a very small Tuesday Group – just Carrie and Harriet. It went surprisingly well, with Harriet unusually talkative. Matt is still lodging with us but was out that night. He has had his bike stolen, but is not sure whether it was from here or from the pizza shop. Meanwhile from Cape Cod Barbara has booked a house in Devon for our big reunion next August. Some pretty strange e-mails are going back and forth.

Before the deluge

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Amy does something creative with Chrissy's hair

Still feeling very jetlagged. My uncle rang at just after 9am to confirm arrangements for Kathleen’s funeral on Monday, and said I sounded “very distant”. An accurate diagnosis: I was half asleep and midway across the Atlantic. Still, it was probably a good thing, because it got me out of bed and in the direction of resuming normal service. It would have been even better if I hadn’t been awake for an hour or two in the night. The weather is dull, cool and threatening rain; so I know we’re home. Walked to Budgen’s to get a loaf and ran into Keiron and family on the way back.

Yesterday passed in a blur, with some necessary catch-ups being achieved in the paperwork department. Dot was at Diocesan House for half the day, and “lodger” Matt, still in residence, was saying goodbye to his school at Acle on the last day of term. I barely left the house.

Our journey home had gone smoothly enough. The Murrays dropped us at the airport in loads of time, and we enjoyed a long but fast-moving queue at Air Transat check-in and a short one through Security. The duty-free part of Terminal 3 at Toronto is nothing to write home about, but we grabbed a snack and bought the children a present each before I spotted that the departure gate had been changed, and we got seats in the new area before it was deluged by other travellers.

The plane left almost on time, and the flight seemed to go quickly (it was 6½ hours). I guess I slept for an hour or so, and the children for much longer. Bit of a queue at passport control, but the bags arrived quickly, and we managed to get the 11.01 train from Platform 4 to Luton Airport Parkway – a pleasant enough journey for which I’d purchased advance tickets. Bit of a squash at first with all our luggage, but we sorted ourselves out after a few people got off at London Bridge.

A taxi from the station at Luton got us to Caddington by about 12.40pm. Dot and I stayed for a couple of hours, some of which was spent asleep, before we left for Norwich. Heavy rain between Luton and Royston, and we saw an unusual number of crashed cars, but we got home safely after stopping for egg and chips (or a bagel in Dot’s case) at the “world famous Comfort Cafe” near Cambridge. Not quite as comfortable as we’d expected, but good chips. Bought a bit of shopping at Morrisons in Norwich before entering the house shortly before 6pm.

Matt had left us a bottle of wine and some chocolates and flowers, which was really nice of him. He didn’t appear till we were heading for bed at the surprisingly late hour of 11.30pm (6.30pm Canada time).

The best of times, the worst of times

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Where the railroad crosses

It’s that worst of times: the last day of a holiday when your plane doesn’t leave till evening, and you hang around wondering what can go wrong and making desultory attempts at packing. Unless you’re David, that is, and then you make extremely long phone calls.

The children woke up late (for them) because of an unexpected event the previous day – the return of the Vanderkooys. We had spent much of a very hot day inside the World Science Centre in the Don Valley area of Toronto – an imaginatively constructed building that tumbles down a ravine in what might be called an ordered state. We visited some reptiles and then (after lunch) an interactive area that the children loved. I was impressed, but not with the acres of children’s groups who increased the decibel level and reduced the floor area. I was also impressed with the Omnimax film, Hubble, which kept the children spellbound, and the adults too.

Lots of traffic on the 401, but we eventually emerged on to the 427, picked up speed and then stopped for (even more) food shopping. Very hot indeed at this point, but it cooled slightly before the Vanderkooys arrived for supper. Joyous reunions all round, and celebrations into the night. They eventually departed for home around 10pm, Oliver and Amy fell into bed, and the rest of us chatted for a while before doing the same.

It’s now 2.15pm, the FedEx lady has delivered a parcel for Barbara, and everyone except me is in the pool area. a couple of days ago the children, Dot and I went into Bolton to do various bits of shopping and to look at some local scenery, including the place where the railroad crosses Mount Hope Road. Magical stuff.

Between realities

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Very odd feeling this Monday morning, as if suspended between two realities. The heat has receded a notch or two, with Barbara and Oliver’s morning walk interrupted by rain. Yesterday was extremely hot – so hot that we stayed indoors a lot of the time. We discovered later that it was the hottest July 17 in Ontario since records began. Nevertheless there was a certain amount of pool activity and two excellent meals materialised from Barbara. How does she do it? Rob came out from Toronto again for the evening meal and took back three postcards from us to put in the mail.

Children pose on the doorstep: Jackson, Oliver, Seth, Amy, Sophie

Farewells were said around 9pm as Chrissy, JD and family departed for the last time, to much sorrow. Both our children were very quiet, and O was inconsolable. The rest of us spent a quiet couple of hours in front of Bottle Shock, the story of the Napa Valley wine success story, in which Alan Rickman was vintage. Barbara went to bed early, but the rest of us saw it through.

This morning, as I said, things were very quiet. I went in the pool with Amy, and Oliver excelled at Monopoly after watching JD’s tactics the previous day. The sun came out and it’s hot again, but not uncomfortable.

On Saturday, while Chrissy, JD and the children went bowling, followed by a pizza, the four of us went into Toronto again for a meal – this time at Nota Bene on Queen Street. I had a superb Wangyu burger with fried egg after salt cod fritters, followed by grapefruit sorbet and excellent ginger tea. We rounded it off with a walk down Queen Street in the evening heat.

Bucket of balls and a shopping spree

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The magnetism of television: Seth, Jackson, Oliver, Sophie and Amy

Saturday, and so of course, it’s raining in England: “cats and dogs”, according to my sources. But here it’s still hot and very dry, and the children have returned after a shorter-than-expected stay in Waterloo, where they took in a water park and a museum, among other things. Jackson and Oliver also went for a couple of 6am walks together, which is nice.

Our Thursday meal was excellent – an Italian restaurant on King Street – and featured a superb sour apple cocktail, as well as top-notch rack of lamb. More or less fell into bed when we got home, but I had a very bad night with plenty of acid threats, and woke up feeling pretty lousy. But things soon improved, even though the girls departed fairly early for a Toronto shopping spree. This turned out well, as Dot bought some very nice clothes. Meanwhile Roger and I went to the local golf club, Gleneagles, and took a bucket of balls each on to the driving range. I hit some surprisingly good shots, 150 yards and more, with a variety of clubs, including a driver and (my favourite) a 5-wood. Some nice pitches too, but of course some rubbish as well. If you can do it right once, why can’t you always do it right? My very first shot (a 3-iron) was a zinger. No, not a singer: Pearl’s a singer.

Afterwards we spent about an hour on the putting green, and I did reasonably well at that too. Much better than usual, anyway. Following evening meal, outside as always, we toyed with going into the pool, but after much hesitation, making of apricot tarts etc, decided to watch Inception. Very clever film, though I would have enjoyed it more if my left eye hadn’t been burning all the way through. Not sure why. Too much sun? Spraying for insects? Some kind of pollen? Anyway I slept much better, and it had practically gone when I got up this morning and took an early dip in the  pool, while it was shady and quiet. Then, after a Lighthouse Cafè breakfast by the pool, the children returned – and eventually found us.

I have finished Nocturnes, and it was superb. Made me want to write short stories again. I am now reading a thriller Dot bought for me in Bolton.

Missing the snake

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Roger, Dot and Barbara on the Caledon Trail near Pattison

The children left after lunch yesterday, and a strange quiet settled on Palmer Circle. The weather was slightly cooler, and so in the evening we went for a walk along part of the Caledon Trail, starting at Palgrave. We did about four miles, mainly at a brisk rate, and Dot and I narrowly avoided seeing a (harmless) garter snake that crossed the trail as we approached. Of course, we have only the Murrays’ word for it that there was a snake, but they’re usually quite reliable.

On the way back to the house we passed the rail crossing on Mount Hope Road, but failed to intercept a train. I had earlier written a poem called Looking for Heaven, in which a Canadian train appeared, along with Nebraska and various other features familiar to certain Ontarians. After supper we watched Easy Virtue, a film of the Noel Coward play that turned out to be unsatisfying despite a promising cast list. Twenty Characters in Search of a Plot would have been a better title. No pace, poor direction and, to tell the  truth, not  a very good play.

This morning we slept in and had a late breakfast. Continued heat is forecast, and tonight we head into Toronto for a meal. I’ve read three of the Ishiguro stories: he really is an excellent writer.

 

Nebraska, the ordered state

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The Canadian connection: Karen and Pete Walpole, Barbara and Roger Murray, and...well...Dot

Suddenly I’m 66, which is not really what you want. Still, I’m feeling reasonably fit with only occasional awareness of mortality – say a dozen or so times a day. It has been warm or very warm ever since we’ve arrived in Ontario, and I’ve only left the Murray spread once – to do a three-mile walk over on Mount Hope Road. We’ve had visitors though: Chrissy, Jackson, Sophie and Seth arrived on Sunday and stayed, and Chrissy’s husband JD also came before heading back late in the day for work on Monday. He’s a psychiatrist and was on call while he was here, but he managed to get away with a lengthy phone consultation. Roger’s brother Rob also joined us for the day on Sunday. He lives in Toronto and is a freelance printing project manager.

The children seem to have hit it off well. Sophie is popular with both Amy and Oliver, and Seth seems very impressed with Oliver. Jackson is pretty independent, being the oldest. David and Chrissy are finding much in common again. There has been frog-hunting and much game-playing – badminton, cricket, croquet, baseball, even a bit of football. Also of course the children are in the pool as often as not.

On Monday the Walpoles came for lunch al fresco – a typically lavish Barbara spread –  and Peter brought a slideshow of their new apartment in Barrie. Good to see them again. They’ll be in the UK in September.

We’ve watched a couple of films – Vantage Point and Red – both of them excellent. I’ve read The Redbreast, a Scandinavian thriller by Jo Nesbo which became compulsive after an irritating start which jumped about all over the place. David bought me Nocturnes by Ishiguro for my birthday: short stories. I’ve read the first, which was excellent. Amy and Dot went into Bolton with Roger and got me another book and come chocolate. Amy also made me a lovely card, and I got a great owl card from David and Oliver, plus one or two others – one from an adorable couple who I didn’t recognise (Oh, yes I did). Chrissy gave me one with a Nebraska theme after a landmark crossword clue, which was “Ordered state”.  Since she had the first two letters, she thought this must be Nebraska. It actually turned out to be Neatness, which for some reason is hysterically funny.

Yes, I had a great birthday: very relaxing and climaxing in a couple of champagne cocktails, which was probably one too many. Slept well, though. Dot has been much-bitten, but got tablets from the chemist that seemed to help. Time seems to be passing slowly in the heat, but very pleasantly indeed.

Warm Ontarian sunshine

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David tries to block a throw from Oliver to Amy (hidden)

Here we are at last in warm Ontarian sunshine, all gathered in close proximity to Roger and Barbara’s pool. Granddaughter Amy has taken on the role of organiser in the pool, while Oliver is trying to teach Dot and me how to swim better. He shows talent for it, but in me he has a recalcitrant pupil. They were both very taken by the Murray property when we arrived at teatime yesterday, after a journey that was less than smooth but without serious impediment.

It began at around noon on Thursday, when Dot and I drove down to Caddington. No real problem, though a stretch of the A505 was closed and we had to detour through Royston. Great excitement at 1 Winchfield, from where the taxi whisked us away to Gatwick Premier Inn South. I say “whisked”, but we soon got snarled up on the M25 and had to do a lengthy detour through towns I was only dimly aware of. Journey time three hours, or about twice as long as it should have been. We disembarked wearily and ate a quick meal in the adjoining restaurant, where our waiter Arthur was a Lenny Henry double – in manner if not in appearance. Good food – and good service as it happens.

A different taxi turned up on time at 8.30am, but it wasn’t big enough to take us all, so David, Dot and the children went in the first one, and I waited for a new one, which eventually turned up and left me a little bit away from the main drop-off point for the south terminal, leaving me to find Departures by a circuitous route. Happily I ran into David eventually, and he directed me to Air Transat check-in, which was happily quick. Security wasn’t bad either.

We ate breakfast in Cafe Rouge and then made for Gate 15, where we had to wait an interminable time to board – nearly 45 minutes late. The journey was pretty straightforward, though tiring, and the three adults among us watched Unknown, a rather good thriller. More hold-ups at Baggage Reclaim, where we waited for ages before they even started coming through. As a result the Murrays had been waiting for us about 90 minutes.

Roger took the luggage, David and me, and the girls went in the other car. Lots of traffic, but we eventually made it, and suddenly it was all worth while.