Tag Archives: paston

The band played on

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An eagle, not a griffin

It’s a soggy October midweek, and I’m just back from Paston, having delivered a CD containing the Paston poetry book file to Lucy, and dropping another off at Rob Knee’s house in North Walsham. A third will go to Caroline at the UEA tomorrow. Meanwhile David is having a look at it to see what he can do to improve it. I’ve already mistaken a spread eagle for a griffin, so that was a good catch (Lucy). Bit nervous about how it’s all going to come together, especially as Lucy doesn’t seem to be able to find the ISBN numbers she has lying around somewhere.

Spent most of Monday and part of yesterday putting the book together, which proved a bit easier than I had anticipated. Had time to clear up some leaves yesterday afternoon, and in the evening we nearly went to the cinema, but H predictably turned up for our Tuesday Group, not having picked up the cancellation message: she was going to come to the cinema with us, but she walked so slowly that we put her on a bus instead and went home to watch three episodes of Battlestar Galactica. I know it doesn’t make an awful lot of sense, but it did at the time. Rather like the query to a wire payment via Lloyds to America for one of our church speakers: it took them eight days to realise there was a problem (which I think we’ve just sorted). Taking eight days to spot a problem doesn’t make much sense either.

Sunday was our big day: it marked my out-of-church debut as a singer in a band, all miked up and with spotlights and everything. The band was Dot (violin), Phil (guitar) and myself (vocals and guitar), and we performed three of my songs – Man in the mask; As soon as it stops raining; and The band played on – at the Seagull Theatre in Lowestoft  as part of their regular “New Words, Fresh Voices” event. I had taken part in this as a poet, but thought I’d give the singing a go after Ian Fosten, the owner and compere, pleaded for more music. Predictably, there was only one poet on Sunday: the rest was music. I didn’t feel we were outshone: the first two songs went really well, and Dot and Phil were really pleased to have done it. As was I, of course. Our band doesn’t have name, but Phil suggested Normal for Norfolk! He is keen to do more, which has to be good.

I’m now feeling better after getting really tired at the end of last week, when an awful lot seemed to be going on – a lot of it on the computer (poetry book) and preparing songs for Sunday, as well as writing a new song which we didn’t use! On Thursday there was a meeting at Dragon Hall about the November Paston event, as a result of which I now have a fairly clear idea about what’s happening when. Except the children’s art/poetry workshop, but I have connected Annette with Sarah to discuss this between them. I’m not usually that good at delegation, so something of a result.

In the afternoon Hilary and I went to Bridges – which is now on Magdalen Road, and not Charing Cross, as I thought – to pick up a bag of Adrian’s poetry books which were going to be thrown out. I’ve had a look at a few but been rather disappointed so far.

Friday was also busy. Dot and I had lunch with the Kibbles at Prezzos, which was very pleasant, but it overlapped slightly with the visit of Rob Knee to make some decisions about the Paston book. Worked out all right, though, and Rob and I were pretty much of one mind, which was good.

Have arranged to see David and the grandchildren over half-term; so that’s pretty exciting. Now to decide what to get Amy for her birthday.

Angels in the roof

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The weathervane designed by J S Cotman on Knapton Church

We’re in the midst of some quite summery weather, with only a slight edge to the wind to suggest that we’re coming into autumn. Yesterday I led a group of four (Rob, Caroline, Kit, Dot Cobley) on the walk from Pigney’s Wood and up the Green Lane (Paston’s Way) into Knapton. Stayed a while at Knapton Church, trying to work out why Knapton was never mentioned by the Pastons – and failing. Lovely angels in the hammerbeam roof. Very little Pastony to see on the walk, but we did have time to discuss our forthcoming book of poetry, which I have proposed we call Another Country, though we probably won’t. We’ve set ourselves a deadline of a fortnight to gather all the material, which is ambitious but essential.

In the evening it was Peter and Joan’s golden wedding at Park Farm. Happily they were both able to get there, despite looking frail. Even Aunt E made it, delivered by her helper Melissa, and it was a pleasant evening. Spent much of it talking to Angela and Vicki, and even ventured a dance with Dot.

Dot did a church school inspection on Thursday at Brisley, and so didn’t get back in time to accompany me to the private view for Martin Laurance’s exhibition at the Theatre Royal. It was the collection of paintings he did on Orford Ness, for which I think he was sponsored by the National Trust. Rather a bleak setting, but he does bleak rather well, especially with his surprising splashes of unusual colour. Really like his work, but resisted the temptation to buy. Pity he’s moving to Kent. Spoke to Hilary Mellon and Rupert, who’s just been diagnosed with diabetes. Elspeth R was there but pretended not to see me again. Don’t know what’s going on there.

While on the subject of the Theatre Royal, we attended a production of Madness of George III on Monday that was absolutely superb. David Haig played him brilliantly and got a standing ovation.  The play itself was compelling, mixing tragedy and humour intelligently.

In other news, I’ve just finished my sermon for tomorrow and have booked to see Adam Cohen at the UEA in November. I have also finished Sam’s novel – prompted by a plea for feedback – and responded. Apparently I was the first of his readers to do so.

 

 

Miraculous appearance of icons

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The Bure at Stokesby

Took a brief step back into the chess world on Monday, when we had a club night featuring rapid games in a kind of mini-tournament, played in the bar. I did well in the first two games, beating Steve Crane and a new guy who gave me a piece early on, but after a bye I came back with two losses – one on time in a winning position against Steve Moore and the other against my bête noir, Terry Glover, where I just miscalculated. That meant I missed out on the semi-finals, but I did have a couple of friendlies against strong players – Jeff Dawson and Jim McAvoy – both of which I won. So +4-2: pretty good for me. Apologies to any readers who don’t play chess.

On the same day we learnt that C had gone into Hellesdon – no surprise, as she’d been deteriorating alarmingly and had become fiercely paranoid – but sad all the same. Dot had been round to see her earlier and had spoken to the social services people who were there to assess her. This has happened to her before, and we expect her to recover enough to come out of hospital in a few months.

Strong wind on Monday,  but it’s been quite pleasant since then. On Tuesday I went out to see Lucy, who is in a particularly bad way after her recent rather lengthy hospital visit. She has so many things wrong with her that the consultants can’t pin down the causes. She is still determined to carry on with the Paston Heritage Society, and we had a longish talk about various aspects of the Pastons, in which I am getting more and more interested, but she was clearly very tired and in pain.

Yesterday I spent ages putting words and pictures on to the new Paston website – “ages” because I couldn’t work out how to insert the images to accompany an article. In the end I asked Robin, who created the site, and he sent lengthy instructions. But what it all boiled down to was that although I could do lots of stuff on the site using Safari, it wasn’t showing me the key icons for inserting images. So I switched to Firefox, and they miraculously appeared. It was pretty easy then. I still had several attempts at resizing a picture I’d been sent before I could get it looking sharp enough. They way I did it (in case I forget and look back at this) was to put the picture into iPhoto, export it as a small picture and then upload it on to the site. Seems straightforward, but there are so many other possibilities…

Anyway by 3.45pm I was determined to get out of the house. Dot was due back from Bradwell shortly, but I couldn’t wait, and in fact passed her on the single-carriageway section of the A47 near Burlingham. I pulled in and phoned her, but she decided to carry on when I said I was going to Mautby (home of Margaret, who married John Paston somewhere around 1440 and wrote many of the Paston letters). I don’t think I’d ever been to Mautby, which is off to the right of the road running from Acle to Caister. It’s pretty much on the edge of the Bure marshes and has a nice old church where Margaret was buried. Unfortunately the south aisle, where she was buried, collapsed some time ago; so there is no trace of any memorial. I drove around a bit and walked a little before deciding that Hall Farm was all that was left of Mautby Hall. The current buildings are almost invisible from the road.

So I drove home, stopping briefly at Stokesby, which has a delightful riverside pull-in and pub. Spoke to a woman from North Yorkshire who was sitting on a boat in the evening sun and was envious that we had “all this on our doorstep”. I said we quite liked North Yorkshire.

Today Dot is at a Diocesan House meeting and I have been up to clean mum and dad’s grave: not a very thorough job, but it looks much nicer.

Teddy bears in Paston heritage event

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Rarely seen in Paston times, a teddy bear is glimpsed on its way to church by balloon.

Another busy few days – particularly the last two. Yesterday Dot and I went down to Caddington together – but in separate cars – to celebrate Oliver’s ninth birthday (which is in fact tomorrow, but hey, let’s not quibble). We arrived in time to eat our packed lunch before going to school with David to pick up Amy. We then brought her back, and Dot and I returned an hour later to pick up the birthday boy. Surprise for both children!

David cooked lamb for the evening meal, and Dot contributed a blackberry and apple crumble from fruit foraged in their garden. Oliver opened our presents, which mainly related to his Hornby train set, and David swiftly inserted the new items (he also bought some track). Made the layout much better, I thought. Oliver and Amy both in good form: first time we’d seen them since Canada.

I then drove home, leaving Dot to stay overnight and enjoy another day there, joined by the Coomes. I had to be in Norfolk to take Lucy’s role in the Blofield Paston Heritage Day, which consisted of giving talks relating to the Paston book and the family history. I had spent quite a lot of time in the last few days researching the Pastons’ Blofield period, with some success. I was thus able to speak with rather more authority than would have been the case a week ago. It still wasn’t a huge amount of authority, but it was good enough, especially as most of the talks centred on the handmade book, which is now three years old.

Lucy did come for a short while, but she was too ill to take any effective part. Caroline and Rob contributed to the central talk (ie the 2nd of 3) by reading poems, and Diane from Oxburgh also read hers. They seemed to go quite well. Naomi and her boyfriend were also there helping for a while, as was Simeon, who is moving into a house two streets away from us. Jonathan was also there, as were his parents. I also met a classmate from the CNS – David Pilch. They crop up everywhere. Nice bloke. The Blofield people generally did a superb job, and loads of people came. I was especially impressed by the teddy bear balloon rides, although these occur very rarely in the Paston Letters.

Skipping back a week to last Saturday, we were at Wymondham, enjoying a barbecue in the sun with the parents of Matt Creber, our former lodger, who is now in Palestine. He was also at the barbecue with his American girlfriend Laurie, who I spent quite a lot of time talking to. She’s a sweetie. Dot and I also talked a lot with Wayne, an astro-physicist who teaches RE and has ideas a lot in common with Dot’s philosophy for children. We gave him a lift home to Thorpe where, coincidentally, I have just discovered that the Pastons had a home in the 16th century (Thorpe Hall). Wayne lives in Bishop’s Close, however, which is another coincidence: Thorpe Hall was more recently owned by the Bishop of Norwich.

Matt’s parents were lovely, as was his sister. None of these ordered two large items for the church amplifier when they meant to order one, but Matt did, which meant I had to pick it up from the church hall, repackage it and send it off. It cost over £13 to send, so it might have been better value for money to flog it on eBay. Or something. While picking it up I also checked a broken window in the hall, which was not as bad as it sounds (double glazing), brushed some cobwebs off the guttering and windows, and swept loads of stones off the hall surround. No, I’m not the churchwarden: Matt is. He’s in Palestine. I may have mentioned that.

That same evening (Thursday) Dot and I went to the Cathedral Hostry to hear a talk on the language of the King James Bible given by Gordon Campbell. This may not sound exciting, but it was brilliant: he’s a really witty speaker and knowledgeable too. Picked up a lot of information, most of which I’ve already forgotten. I wish I had a better memory, but then if I did, who knows what I’d remember…

This was the second evening in a row we’d been to a lecture, which must constitute some kind of record. The previous night we were at Paston Church to hear Richard Hoggett, the Norfolk coastal heritage officer, launch the Paston Reading the Past in our Landscape project. He as also a good speaker, and much of what he had to say was really interesting, though I have to say pre-history is not a great love of mine. He was able to point us to a lot of interesting online material which will relate to the Pastons. There will be a number of events over the next six months.

On Tuesday Dot spent a very wet day (or part of it) at Beeston Hall School, near Sheringham, with Barbara for a P4C session. She came home very positive and bubbly about it. In the evening we had a smallish Tuesday Group. Smallish, but beautifully formed.

Bit of brightness

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The River Blyth at Blyford Bridge

The pitch and putt went pretty well. Although I didn’t play as well as I did last time, I did improve my score slightly. There were quite a lot of people on the course, but we were lucky in that a group of six-plus who paid ahead of us let us go first. I think four should be a maximum really, but then I’m pretty right-wing about that sort of thing. Anne had real problems actually hitting the ball, except when she was on the green, when she was very good. I don’t know who won, because significantly, we didn’t compare scorecards at the end. Instead we went for a meal at Prezzo’s.

Yesterday I took advantage of a bit of brightness in the morning to drive to Southwold to get some photos for my rivers project. Stopped at Blyford Bridge and then went on to Southwold Harbour. Again, plenty of people about, but I did manage to get a couple of decent shots. Dot didn’t come, because she was already feeling light-headed as the diet in preparation for her colonoscopy tonight kicked in. Today she is feeling pretty low because of the rather violent reaction to the medication she has to take, which means she has to be within about six inches of a toilet at all times. This is not easy to arrange. She has finished eating now. The procedure is at 7pm.

I’ve finished my river poems and sent the pictures to Ian, but no response yet. I now need to turn my attention to the Paston poems and to Blofield. Lucy is in hospital again and feeling the strain.

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.

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.

Hot poets, cool walks and a hog roast

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Crane feeding its baby at Pensthorpe: the unhurried lifestyle

Yet again time has flashed by since my past post, and here I am at the start of a significant new era without having adequately chronicled the last seven days. Today the two of us will be joined by a friend, Matthew, who will lodge with us until the end of July. He is house-hopping, because in August he moves to stay with other friends. September? Ah, that’s when he moves even further – to Palestine to take up a post with a mission organisation specialising in education, which is his area of expertise. Not the sort of secure existence that most of us yearn for: the (at least temporary) absence of a home must be difficult. We shall do our best to make him feel welcome.

It’s been another busy week. Of course. I think I’m now prepared for our Canadian excursion, except for buying the currency, letting our card providers know where we’re going to be and checking what I need to do to stop my mobile phone from racking up a huge bill. Dot has been rushing from school to school, mainly fulfilling her DSSO obligations, and this will culminate on Saturday, when she hurtles down to Reading to take part in an education exhibition on behalf of her company, Philosophy4Children.

So our lives have often been taking different courses. Dot missed a sparsely attended DCC meeting, a walk round Norwich with Paston poets on a burning hot Sunday afternoon, a Naked in Norwich private view in St Benedict’s on Monday evening and a nine-mile Paston Walk on Tuesday. Not that she would have come on that, any more than she would have come to my three-hour session on Writing News yesterday afternoon for a Bridges creative writing group. These are people who have mental health problems but are still functioning pretty well, and it was a surprisingly enjoyable time. I did get paid adequately for it too, which is only fair considering the amount of preparation that I did. I used the “Welsh cousin rescues woman from car” story as an interview/press conference tool, and it worked nicely.

The walk on Tuesday was interesting. It was hot in Norwich, but by the time I reached Paston there was a chill in the air from a sea mist, which made walking easier, though I wasn’t really dressed for it. Fortunately I had a fleece which I donned to supplement my shorts. It was supposed to be a six-mile walk, through Edingthorpe and Bacton (via Bromholm Priory) and back along the coast to Paston, but I actually measured close to nine (partly because I was unable to find a critical track from the clifftop across a wheatfield and had to walk it back again to find out where it started – after going a longer way round in the first place. Encountered a couple and their son at Edingthorpe who used to live there but had moved to Heacham. The husband had two drawings of the church inside. Engaged me in conversation for a while (then again on the road, and again at Bacton Church), and as a result I missed the fish and chip shop at Bacton and had to be satisfied with an ice cream. Managed to fall over quite heavily in Bacton, but threw myself on to the verge and avoided serious injury – or even trivial injury, if you don’t count a graze on my arm.

The Paston poets’ meeting on Sunday (to discuss our next project) featured a drink in the Olive Tree before a walk up Elm Hill, a quick look at St Peter Hungate and a pause at St Andrew’s Hall, which was conveniently shut. Three of us (Kay and Adrian with me)  then walked on to King Street, dropping in at Dragon Hall and Julian’s cell before taking in the plaque at the Music House – allegedly the oldest house in Norwich. It was preceded by lunch at church to say farewell to the Cracknells: Heather is going to be a curate in Cringleford after her ordination on Saturday. Moving occasion – Paul led the service and Heather preached. Nicholas did a final liturgy that included the children, Rhianna and Finnan.

Another big church event was Donna’s wedding to Jason in the old church building. She is a very quiet, lovely woman with four children whose former husband left her. Her friends and family, however, were pretty much all  noisy, and the reception at the hall afterwards – and at Dunston Hall in the evening – proved boisterous. Other than Donna, Nicholas and Heather, we knew practically no-one at the Dunston Hall hog roast, but we sat at a table with congenial people and had a good time. Very kind of her to invite us: Dot has always been close to her after they were in a small prayer group some years ago. They will be living in Gorleston in future, so we lose another church presence in The Lathes: Donna has been making bookings for the hall, and this will pass to Cheryl, our cleaner.

Naked in Norwich was a Twenty Group exhibition to which I was invited by poet Hilary Mellon, who opened it (she booked me for Bridges too). It was (self-evidently) a collection of nude drawings, and I amused myself trying to distinguish between guests who were artists, models or simply friends. Surprises at the private view: Elvira, our Peruvian friend from church; Rosemary, the librarian from Archant; Philippa, the stone-cutter; Martin Mitchell, the artist whose etching we own; and Sandra, the artist I collaborated with a couple of years ago. Plus a few others. Sadly absent: Rüthli Losh-Atkinson, the other artist I collaborated with and a fine drawer of nudes, who died not long ago.

Brilliant holes in the hedges

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Norwich City are playing the final match of the season as I write, having won promotion on Monday amid incredible scenes at Poringland, where we were completing a bank holiday with the Robinsons. After an unlikely 0-3 loss by Cardiff to Middlesbrough, the Canaries needed to beat Portsmouth away to make sure of promotion, and they did just enough: 0-1 (Jackson). So today’s match is a formality, and there is more than a suspicion that the City players have not been putting everything into training. Still, it’s 0-0 as we approach half-time, and Dot is having her hair cut in the kitchen, courtesy of Linda, with the radio on. (Final score 2-2)

Dot at East Ruston gardens, with Happisburgh lighthouse framed by a hedge

Monday was a good day. We started with tea at the Robinsons, plus a tour of their extension-in-progress. Then Philip drove us to Ingham, near Stalham, for lunch at the Swan, which was very pleasant. I then navigated us to East Ruston, where we stumbled on the Old Vicarage Gardens which, coincidentally, we were looking for. I wasn’t optimistic about these, but after an entrance that seemed like a glorified garden centre, they turned out to be most unusual, more than making up for the biting wind, and with hedges that occasional blunted it. Some brilliant planning, with views through holes in the hedges picking our churches and the nearby Happisburgh lighthouse.

After a pause for tea we returned to Poringland, where we looked at about half the Robinsons’ pictures from their recent world tour before switching our attention to the vital match. The tension was so high that Philip had to leave the house, leaving three of us on the edges of our seats – well, two of us, with Anne mildly interested.

A busy week followed for Dot, with several school visits and an inspection at Elveden on Thursday. She has written most of her report already. On Wednesday I went to see Hilary Mellon about a journalism workshop she wants me to do for her Bridges group. I was a bit doubtful at first, but I think it sounds OK. Gave her a lift to a Bridges meeting at St Mary Magdalen afterwards, which gave me an opportunity to spy out the ground. In the evening I was over at Paston for a trustees’ meeting, at which we decided to continue with our plans for the church in the hope that a new clergyperson who will be PCC secretary will bring order out of chaos. We shall see. Nice homemade ginger biscuits, though. Dot meanwhile was visiting Carrie.

Yesterday, with the weather having settled itself at something very pleasant (no wind at last), my iPhone went on the blink, with the battery not recharging. I took it up to the Apple store, having made an appointment on David’s advice, and they thought initially it was a connection problem. But after I left it with them to charge, it became evident that the battery was faulty, or had reached the end of its life. So when I returned from doing a bit of extra shopping, I was supplied with a new battery, which comes in the form of a new phone, but at battery price (£55). Altogether a good result, especially as I had remembered to cancel the papers for our upcoming holiday, and the new phone recovered its apps and everything else.

This evening we head for Morston Hall, again with the Robinsons, which should be very good indeed. The weather is still excellent, though rain is predicted for tomorrow, when I am preaching at St Augustine’s.

Lured into trying something new again

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The other award-winning den at Bewilderwood, with its makers

Very, very tired. Possibly something to do with the glass of Sauvignon Blanc I’ve just enjoyed; possibly the heat (have just returned from the Rosary, where I removed dead flowers from parents’ grave and caught guilty-looking couple exiting with lilac from a cemetery tree); possibly the fact that Dot has had a cold/cough and I haven’t been sleeping too well; possibly the amount of stuff I’ve been doing over the last few days.

Today I’ve been trying to put together a booklet of my Lent poems. Downloaded some software that  seemed promising, but it would only work if you had a printer that printed on both sides (I think), so I have now resorted to juggling the original pages, which will take a bit longer. Why do I get lured into trying something new? The perennial question.

Yes, it is much, much warmer. Summer is with us. I just hope it doesn’t take a good look round, decide it’s had enough and go away just as we head north for our Scottish holiday. No sign of movement yet. Dot was not at all well on Monday, which meant we didn’t go to Alison’s funeral; and to round the day off, Yosif failed to show up for our chess game yet again. Rumour has it that he’s in Bulgaria, east of Hemsby.

I’ve done quite a bit of work for Howard this week but not received any acknowledgement for the last, most complicated piece, which was an EDP-style article on a plan they have to improve orthopaedic pathways. It sounded more exciting in the article, I have to say, which may be why I haven’t heard back.

On Tuesday I spent much of the morning walking around Norwich with Rob Knee, researching the Paston sites. We then met up again in the evening for the Norwich Writers’ Circle prizegiving at the Assembly House. I won the smallest prize for a minimalist poem, which left me unreasonably less than satisfied, as I had nothing else in the anthology. However, I was the only Norwich prizewinner, and the first prizewinner came from Northern Ireland, so I suppose I should be happy. Walked part way home with Rob, his wife Penny and son George. Hilary was also there after a couple of days of being whisked to hospital with suspected heart attacks (probably angina). She wants me to do a workshop on journalism for her handicapped group, but I have nothing against them, so why should I? I suppose I might. Meanwhile the Cracknells’ son Finnan has been in hospital with a muscle infection, which sounds nasty, but he seems to be making a good recovery.

On my way into the city to buy a ball for Oliver, I ran into Joy, who used to clean for us. Mind you, I didn’t work that out until I’d nearly got home. Her daughter Tiffany also “did” for us at one point, but I can’t remember their surname. Vicky M introduced them to us, but she can’t remember either. Frustrating, especially as I said I’d send her a poetry book.

Far back in the mists of time, last Friday,Dot got a spare ticket to go to watch Norwich beat Nottingham Forest 2-1 – an exciting match, but not as exciting as tonight’s derby at Ipswich, which we really need to win, but probably won’t. On the Saturday the Greens came round for a meal, and we had a predictably convivial time, though Anna had to leave early because her shingles was playing up. Howard went with her, which is only right.

By the way, Dot has had her P4C visit to Holland in September confirmed – exciting. She’s spent most of the day in the city with Anne, which must mean she’s feeling better. She has new shoes too.