This is a rare picture of my uncle Reg, between two Dorothys. His wife has the handbag; the other one is his younger sister. No idea when or where it was taken (I would guess the 70s), but it comes from the collection of another uncle, the even younger Paul.

Summer arrived completely today – very warm and sunny. Dot and I went to Park Farm for lunch, and called in on her aunt Ethel on the way, to show her some pictures of the celebration meal and thank her for her gift. Afterwards I went to the chiropractor, and we then retrieved a package from the Post Office for £1.18, which turned out to be an Open Studios catalogue, which I already had, and an invitation to a private view for Martin Mitchell, which was six days ago. So, a total waste of £1.18, not to mention the petrol.

Today is also local election day. There is absolutely no-one I want to vote for. All the parties seem to have turned themselves into branch offices of Greenpeace, and the Lib Dems cunningly arranged things so that we couldn’t get out of our road this morning – pretending as usual to be very informative about what was happening, but not actually wanting to tell us anything.

Before we get back to older family pictures, here is what is believed by at least one expert to be the best picture ever taken of my wife, Dot. It was taken by Acton Gazette photographer Pete Smith at Acton, West London, probably around 1970. After being pressed by a close friend to find it when I reported it lost, I eventually uncovered it while going through photographs for our Into the Sixties meal. It was slightly marred, but what you see here is his excellent attempt to restore it.

We were delighted for obvious reasons that last night Graeme Dott won the world snooker championship, and believe it is partly down to us. He was going steadily downhill as we watched, but as soon as we stopped watching to go to sleep he recovered to win the last two frames. Little does he know…

Miserable weather yesterday for a bank holiday, enabling us to watch Solaris – an excellent film – without feeling guilty for staying indoors. It rained pretty much all day. Today is much brighter and warmer out of the wind. But there is quite a wind.

Clear the road! Tractor driver Oliver sorts out a snarl-up ahead. He was in authoritative mood when he visited us at the weekend, taking over various vehicles. He was also, with his sister Amy, a big hit at the Lenton/Cousens family gathering and celebration, which went surprisingly well.

My uncle Paul supplied a number of pix and documents that I’m putting on record for the family archive, and Dot and I put a large number of pictures on display from the past.

Today’s the day for our family celebration meal – Into the Sixties – marking our both reaching the age of 60 as well as our being married in the 60s. We have at last count 34 coming to eat with us at Peter Beales’ renowned Sweet Briar Bistro, near Attleborough. We worked out that if all our relatives had come it would have been around 60, possibly more, but the bistro doesn’t hold that many.

The picture, appropriately, is from the 60s. Dot is sitting in the shadow of Liverpool Cathedral and rather stealing its glory. We were up there on a journalistic mission for The Christian, I seem to remember. I have no idea what it was, but I’m pretty sure David Coomes and probably someone else (a photographer?!) were there too. It must have been 1968, I think – certainly before we were married, but, judging by that ring, after we were engaged.

This is sort of a miracle. The picture is of my two grandchildren, Oliver and Amy, playing at home, but it comes from a film that vanished completely for over a month. It was in my car with two other films, waiting to be processed. When I went to take them out, there were only two. We searched the car thoroughly, more than once, but there was no sign of it. I assumed I must have knocked it out of the car when I took some other stuff out, and even went so far as to go and look for it where I had been parked. But nothing. I gave it up.

The other day I went to get in the car, and the film was lying in plain sight beside the driver’s seat.
This clearly demonstrates the existence of other dimensions into which things like films can slip for a while, and then reappear.

Meanwhile I went to Wells today with the poetry vending machine. Technically the PVM was in Annette and Mike’s car, following behind me. For some reason it failed to slip into another dimension and duly arrived at Wells for the weekend’s poetry festival. The trick will be getting it back. Sunny day, but bitterly cold at Wells in a northerly wind. Stunningly beautiful, though.

A Hemsby h0liday, possibly about 1958. A group of us in the Valley – an area between the dunes – which was a favourite spot. Football strategically placed. I am in the foreground, with my cousin Edward behind. Then his mother Olive, and her two sisters – Eileen and my mother, Phyllis.

Back in 2006, a beautiful spring day here in Norwich, and the carpet layer is just completing his work, which means improvements to the house are almost finished. However, Dot is still finding plenty to do in the garden, cleaning the utility room and the rest of the house.

Back to my family – this is my father and mother with my two brothers, Andrew and Philip, at Land’s End. The picture was taken during our last family holiday at Perranporth. Of course at the time I thought it would go on for ever, and I’m sure the others did too. Quite a good shot for a ten-year-old, with the interesting low angle, just before I stepped backwards off the cliff.  Oh no I didn’t.

The plumbers have put on the new taps in the bathroom, and now we are on the brink of completing the current round of house improvements: the carpet men come tomorrow to do the stairs. Yesterday afternoon I spent a couple of hours with Rupert Mallin, Lisa D’Onofrio and Lisa’s husband trying to fix one of the vending machines. We (ie they) eventually got it to work, and we packed it with boxes, ready for transportation to Wells on Friday.

Went to new-look agm at St Luke’s Church in the evening, where Howard was presented with his fine wine for completing lots of years as churchwarden. He also spoke in a debate on whether churches should tithe their income and convinced just about everyone that they should give more than a tithe. Quite an achievement, from the heart. There was also a meal.

Afterwards I fell asleep on the sofa (not unusual) while watching a TV programme about colour films in the 1920s. It would have been nice to have some of our family.

This is from the 50s, and it shows a perky looking Gloria Roberts with her brother Adrian, both from Corwen in North Wales and both cousins of my wife Dot. Their mother Margery was in the previous picture. To the right of them are Dot (far right) and her sister Doreen, who must have died not long after this was taken after contracting pneumonia.

As I write, a duo of plumbers are completing installation of taps in the bathroom, which is a bit of a relief. Dot has just gone to investigate a ringing alarm down the road. Apart from that, it’s all quiet.

A little blurred, but with its heart in the right place – the right place in this case being the Cousens home in Mundesley Road, North Walsham. Not 59, the one before that. In the picture are, I believe, Dot’s grandfather Bertie Cousens and his wife Emma (nee Pike). Also Dot’s Aunt Margery at the back, her mother Dorothy, right, and Aunt Jessie, in the centre at the front.

This is one of a number of pics in album shown me by Jessie’s son, Roger.

Today we have been making final arrangements for the celebration meal on Saturday – dropped in on the Beales family.  It’s feeling a bit more like spring, but struggling to maintain it.

And this, I should imagine, is one of the last pictures taken of my mother before she became a widow.  She is posing in untypically daring style on the bonnet of our Rover while we were on our last family summer holiday at Perranporth, Cornwall, in August 1955. Or maybe she was daring in those days, before my father died.

We stayed in a caravan. I remember running excitedly across the beach to the village to buy the latest Enid Blyton book, which was probably River of Adventure, in hardback. I seem to recall that it was 7s 6d (37.5p). The beach was rocky with hard sand.